


A Perfect Balance

by Marian_De_Haan



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Episode: s0105 The Web, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-24 23:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marian_De_Haan/pseuds/Marian_De_Haan
Summary: Avon leaves the Liberator after events in The Web, but his plans to start a new life on the independent planet, Aurora, go seriously awry when he uncovers a Federation plot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Horizon #23. Reproduced here on the author's behalf and with the author's permission.

The peace on _Liberator's_ flight deck was disturbed as the tool slipped from Avon's bloated fingers, hitting the deck with a clatter. Vila's head appeared over the back of the couch on which he'd been dozing.

Eyes blazing, Avon turned away from the computer console he'd been working on. "That's it, Blake! I'm finished!" He held up his right hand. In the twenty-four hours since being hit by Geela's torture beam, it had swollen so badly that he could no longer use the fingers. The steadily increasing pain had fouled his temper.

//It will heal, Avon,// Cally telepathed, stepping down from the communication console.

He gave her a withering look. "I know! But next time I might not be so lucky."

Gan rose from the pilot's seat, where he was being instructed by Jenna. "Shall I get you a painkiller?"

"I can get one myself." Avon turned to Blake, who was studying a star chart projection on the main screen. "I am not going to risk ending up crippled because of your insane obsession. I'll let you know where to take me as soon as l have decided on a suitable destination."

He strode away, hearing Vila mutter: "And good riddance!" Cally hurried after him. "You should go and rest. Allow your hand the chance to heal." Catching up with him at the top of the steps, she took him gently by the arm. "Come."

For a moment he dug in his heels like an obstinate mule, then practicality overrode pride and he allowed her to lead him off the flight deck.

When they were gone, Vila looked at the others in astonishment. "Did you see that? He went with her — without a word!"

"He must be feeling really sore," Gan said.

"He seems to have forgiven Cally for leading us into that web-trap," Jenna observed. "He was all in favour of dumping her before."

Blake asked Gan: "Didn't the medical computer recommend a painkiller for him?"

Gan nodded. "Yes, and I found the prescribed drug. But I don't think he took it."

"That's iust stupid," Vila said.

Jenna took the seat vacated by Gan. "Maybe he distrusts alien drugs." She turned to Blake, who had turned his attention back to the chart. "Do you think he means it, about leaving?"

He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"He'll change his mind," Gan predicted. "Once he's rested."

"I should not have let him insist on taking the night watch," Blake said.

"There didn't seem much wrong with his hand then," Jenna pointed out. "It's not your fault if he's too stubborn for his own good."

Vila grinned. "Avon thinks he's tough. Well, compared to the heavies I've dealt with in prison..."

"And made all cower before you, of course," Jenna cut in nastily.

Vila gave her a hurt look, then sank down again to resume his slumber.

*****

In the medical unit Avon drained the glass Cally had handed him and put it down beside him on the bench. "Thank you."

He took his wounded hand gingerly in the other. Cally picked up the glass. "You'll be more comfortable wearing the arm in a sling."

"Probably." He rose. "I'll go and rest - in my cabin."

Cally did not argue. The drink had contained a strong sleeping drug. She judged that he would just be able to make it to his cabin.

"I will walk with you." She followed him into the corridor.

He flashed her a mischievous smile, gone so quick she'd nearly missed it. "Afraid that I'll drop off before I get there?"

She gave him a playful poke in the ribs. "You better not. I cannot carry you."

When they reached his cabin Cally activated the door opener. Avon headed straight for his bed and fell heavily down on it.

Cally took his foot and began to remove the boot.

"I can do my own-" He caught her look. "As you wish." His eyelids drooped. A moment later he was asleep.

Cally paused to study him. She had never before seen Avon with his defences down. His relaxed face made him look younger and vaguely vulnerable. No-one could call Kerr Avon beautiful, he wasn't even good looking. Yet there was a certain attractiveness to the lean, austere features.

Without conscious effort Cally's eyes switched over to her inner vision. Although her skills in that field were poorly developed she was able to sense the warmth behind the cold, hard shell Avon mentally carried around him.

In the low light of the cabin, silver threads began to appear from its walls, building a cocoon round Avon, a harness binding him to the ship. Cally knew that what she saw was not real, merely a symbol of his attachment to _Liberator_.

She shook her head and the vision faded. But it stayed in her mind. Smiling, she took off his other boot before retreating softly from the cabin. Avon would not leave; how could he, bound as strongly to the ship as he was.

*****

Never one to avoid his responsibilities, Blake had decided to take the night watch himself. That was usually Avon's duty - he'd volunteered for it at the very beginning, when Blake had first drawn up the duty rosta. Firstly, Avon had argued, he never liked long rest periods anyway, and could function perfectly well with taking some hours of sleep each morning and evening. Secondly, he preferred to do his research on _Liberator's_ systems in peace and quiet. Thirdly, doing the job himself was the only way to be sure that the person on night duty would stay awake.

The schedule had worked to everyone's satisfaction, not only providing the others a proper night's rest but also keeping Avon out of their hair at those times when his acid comments were the most unwelcome. Jenna suffered from severe morning tempers, and Vila's moaning was always loudest at that time of the day. Equally, the evenings, when they relaxed playing games or just chatting, were usually much more pleasant without Avon around.

Blake refused to ponder on the opportunities for sabotage that the long stretches unsupervised on _Liberator's_ flight deck offered Avon; if he had to live in fear of betrayal from his own crew, he might as well give up. He had forced his trust on Avon from the very beginning. And it worked: when it came to the crunch Avon had not let him down.

Now Avon had announced his intention to leave. Blake was inclined to agree with Gan that he would change his mind once his hand had healed. Blake had no illusions about Avon sharing his desire to bring down the Federation, but surely his scientific curiosity would not allow Avon to leave before he succeeded in unravelling every detail of _Liberator's_ advanced technology...

A sharp voice brought him out of his reverie: "Zen, status report!"

Avon had entered the flight deck in his usual stealthy manner. Wearing his arm in a sling, he looked rested and ready for verbal battle.

"I'll take my watch," he told Blake. "There's no need."

"I'm fine." Avon listened to the computer reporting all systems functioning normally, then went on: "I've slept for nearly ten hours. There's only so much rest a man can take. Besides, I need to do some investigations."

Without waiting for Blake's comment he instructed the computer: "Zen, I want a listing of all planets outside the Federation with a level of technology advanced enough to provide good employment prospects for a computer technician of my calibre." He moved over to his usual seat. "Relay the information to my station."

Blake left his own position, walking calmly towards him. "So you still intend to leave, then?"

Avon began to study the data appearing on the screen in front of him. "Did you doubt it?"

"I thought, on reflection, you would choose not to abandon your researches of the technology on _Liberator_."

"I value my life above knowledge." Avon looked up. "Sooner or later, your actions will get this ship and everyone aboard destroyed. I'm getting out while l still have the chance."

Blake halted at his side. "Well, I can't blame you, I suppose. The shock and pain of torture -"

Avon's good hand shot out, seizing the other's tunic. "Don't try that tactic on me, Blake! l was learning to deal with pain while you were still in your cradle."

Blake looked into the blazing brown eyes. Avon's rage was more unsettling than his usual cold hostility. "You can't be more than five years my senior."

Avon let go of his tunic. "Hardly."

"So?"

No answer.

"You were abused as a child," Blake guessed.

Avon shrugged, his gaze turning back to the screen. "Just the odd beating. My father was a violent man. And a coward. He stopped the day l was strong enough to hit back."

_That would have taken years_. Blake's hand moved towards the other man. He arrested the motion, though. Avon did not react well to acts of compassion. Instead, he said: "However rotten the Federation is, it does not tolerate child abuse. Why didn't you tell someone?"

"Oh, I did." Avon's voice was deeply bitter. "But no-one wanted to believe ill of that pillar of society. For more convenient to ignore a small boy's complaints. Safer, too. You don't want to antagonise a powerful man."

Finding no suitable answer to that, Blake refrained from comment.

Well, it explained Avon's lack of trust in his fellow men. But why had he told him? It was not like Avon to be so open about his past. Then it hit Blake: Avon no longer cared. He was already cutting himself loose from the ship and its crew. It did not matter any more to him what Blake knew about his past, because he was determined that very soon they would be parted, and never meet again.

Blake let out a small sigh. Life might be easier without Avon's cynicism and constant criticism. However useful his technical skills might be, they were no balance for his insubordination.

Working awkwardly with his left hand, Avon punched a few keys on his console. "Go away, Blake. I'll let you know when I've decided on my destination." Without looking up, he added: "l'm not sorry to leave. Being acquainted with you has _not_ been a pleasure."

Blake left the flight deck, feeling he should have handled the situation better.

*****

In an attempt to forge his unenthusiastic crew into something resembling a team, Blake insisted on them taking the main meal together. The meal was prepared, from _Liberator's_ vast stock of concentrates, by the crewmember on catering duty. It was never an onerous task, but results varied in accordance with the level of dedication the cook brought to the job.

_You could tell if was Vila's turn. The least appetising food, prepared with the absolute minimum of effort_. Jenna gave the man in question a sour look and chewed without enthusiasm on the tasteless protein chunks.

Swallowing his last mouthful, Avon laid down his spoon. In the three days since the accident, the swelling of his hand had lessened, restoring a measure of use to the fingers sufficient for handling the cutlery. The sling hung empty round his neck. He was ready to discard it all together.

"Well," he said. "This is one experience I will be happy never to endure again."

"And it will be a pleasure never to have to cook for you again," Vila retorted.

"You call this cooking?"

"It isn't that bad," Gan said mildly.

Jenna turned to Avon: "You've decided where to go, then?"

He nodded. "The planet Aurora seems to come closest to my requirements. It is independent of the Federation and has a solid banking system, a stable government and a fast developing economy. That means they have computers and need personnel to build, program, maintain and repair them."

"Sounds like the right place for you," Gan said.

"Unless their computers are totally different from those of the Federation," Vila observed.

Avon gave him a withering look. "I imagine I'll be able to handle them."

"I've never heard of Aurora," Cally remarked.

"Nor have I," Gan said. "What's it like?"

"The planet is Earth type. Mainly ocean with just one large continent, stretched out over the temperate zone. Its main town is Aurora City, the capital and seat of the government. That's where I intend to set up residence."

Jenna shoved her plate aside and rose to her feet. "I'll lay in the course, then."

"I have already done so." Avon raised his eyebrows slightly, as if mocking her eagerness to get rid of him. "It is not too far out of the way from Centero, the target for Blake's next mission. I know how eager you all are to risk your necks for his cause."

Jenna sat down again. "You insist on being a bastard to the last minute, don't you?"

"Definitely." His gaze settled on Blake. "That leaves just one point: my share from the contents of the strongroom. As one of _Liberator's_ salvagers, l am entitled to a third."

"Oh no," Vila said. "It's ours, too. You can have a sixth."

"I, Jenna and Blake boarded this ship first," Avon argued. "That gives us the right to it."

"No, it doesn't!"

"It does, Vila," Jenna said. "Avon's right, we are the salvagers. You three came later."

"That seems a bit unfair," Gan remarked.

Cally said: "I want nothing."

"Well, I do!" Vila insisted.

"No-one's going to take anything away!" Blake's voice cut across their bickering. "The rebellion needs funds."

Jenna caught Avon's wry smile.

"Didn't I warn you?" he whispered.

"Shut up!" She stood, leaning furiously over the table. "You can do with your share what you want, Blake, but I'll decide what I do with mine!"

"Me too!" Vila shouted.

"No-one is taking any of that treasure away." Blake repeated. "It stays on the ship, Jenna!"

Finding herself unable to hold his gaze, she sat down. "All right, for the moment it can stay where it is. Just don't use any of my share!"

"Agreed," said Gan.

"I don't agree," Vila protested.

"I insist on my share being used for our fight," Cally said.

Vila scowled. "Just keep your thieving hands off my share."

Blake raised his chin. "You're outvoted, Avon."

"What a surprise!" His cold smile told Jenna that he had been anticipating this. "In that case, l retain my claim on my share, and on this ship."

"No." Blake stood, folding his arms. "When you're out, you're out."

Avon rose gracefully. "Not without my share." He advanced on Blake, halting in front of him. "You can't have it both ways! Either you buy me out now, or I reserve the right to come back for it later."

"That sounds fair," Gan observed.

"Let's buy him out now!" Jenna said.

Blake and Avon locked gazes, faces close together. Blake was both taller and heavier but Avon gave no sign of being intimidated.

"That treasure will be used for our fight," Blake said. "But I'm willing to let you retain your right to a place on this ship."

Avon stepped aside. "How generous of you."

Head held high, he left the room.

Jenna stared after him, wondering what Avon was up to. Surely he would never agree to leave empty handed? He must be planning to raid the treasure room. Well, that was something she could prevent! Blake was not always receptive to advice, but surely under the circumstances he'd accept the suggestion to put a watch on the strongroom...

*****

Three days later, with _Liberator_ in geostationary orbit above Aurora City, her crew flocked to the teleport room to see Avon off. "Just to make sure he really leaves," as Vila put it, not quite out of earshot.

Avon appeared calm and determined, purposefully ignoring the nagging pain the prospect of abandoning the _Liberator_ caused in his chest. He wore new clothes, carefully selected from the ship's storeroom. Dark blue trousers, a high collared navy sweater, and a blue tunic with a large silver V running diagonally from the shoulders to the hem at the back and front. Shiny black boots and a silver coloured jacket completed his outfit.

The bag he carried contained a change of clothes, toiletries and some tools. Not much to start a new life with, although it was more than he had brought aboard _Liberator_, having been stripped at his arrest of everything except the clothes on his back. But hidden in the secret pocket of his tunic were six of the most valuable gemstones from the treasure room. He'd appropriated them straight after finding the room, a move that served him well now. It was logical to assume that Blake would set a watch until he left the ship, so Avon had made a point of staying away.

Cally was tense, knowing how it would hurt Avon to tear himself loose from _Liberator_. Even if he had no idea of the bonds she had seen, he must be aware of his emotional attachment to the ship. She was surprised that he had found the willpower to leave.

Avon walked over to check the teleport co-ordinates Cally had set. Then he went to stand in the bay.

Blake took a deep breath. "Avon —"

"No speeches," he interrupted tersely. "There is nothing to say."

"You always have to get the last word in, don't you?" Vila said.

Avon pointedly ignored him.

//Goodbye, Avon// Cally telepathed.

He looked straight at her. For a moment she saw a softening in his eyes, so brief she could not be sure. His face blank, his voice sharp, he ordered: "Put me down."

Cally flicked the switches. While Avon's figure began to shimmer, then dematerialised, she saw again the thick strands that bound him to the _Liberator_. She winced in sympathy, waiting for the moment when they would snap.

They did not. With awe, Cally saw the strands begin to stretch out, becoming thinner and thinner until they were all but invisible. But still they held, disappearing through the solid wall of the teleport bay, glowing faintly silver like a bedewed cobweb.

"Well, that's that," Jenna said, sounding relieved.

Blake shook himself visibly. "Let's go back to the flight deck. Lay in a course for Centero, Jenna. Standard speed."

"No need to stay here," Gan said while following them from the room.

Dawdling as usual, Vila declared: "I'm glad to have seen the last of him."

Cally smiled. As she rose to her feet, the vision disappeared but she knew the bonds were still there, holding firm, however far away Avon went, and was confident in the knowledge that they would bring him back, eventually. 


	2. Chapter 2

Karela Karth, the owner and Director of Aurora Computer Express, scowled at the man who had entered her office uninvited. Usually her secretary knew how to keep random visitors out. But Merith had a fondness for slender men with brown eyes and black hair. This one must have made the grade despite his mane flashing up a rich brown where the sun, streaming through her office window, caught it. The lean, arrogant face made his age hard to guess. His blue and silver tunic matched his self-confident stance to perfection.

Karela saw that her overt scrutiny made no impression. In fact, he was applying the same technique to her. Well, she was worth noticing. Golden brown skin, large dark eyes, black hair in a loose braid long enough to sit on, the curves of her figure accentuated by her purple skintight bodysuit.

"I don't recall having an appointment," she said.

"I can assure you that your precious time won't be wasted." There was a hint of insolence in his pronunciation of the word 'precious'. He spoke standard Terran diction with the careful of Earth's upper class, something Karela could recognise despite never having set foot on Earth.

"Besides," he continued, "hearing me out is in your own interest."

"That remains to be seen." Karela made a point of consulting the functional clock on the wall, starkly streamlined and unadorned like the rest of the office furniture. "Since you're here, I'll give you five minutes."

He cast her a quick, dazzling smile, then pulled out the chair in front of her desk and sat down. "Thank you. I've come to offer you my services."

Karela eyed him sceptically. "What makes you think I have need of your... services?"

"Logic. ACE is the largest computer firm on this planet, you've got contracts from the government and all the major commercial companies. With the rapid growth in information technology, you are bound to be short of qualified staff. You can't afford to turn me down."

"Really?" Karela showed herself still unimpressed. "You have certificates to prove your qualifications?"

"Certainly. But not available, regrettably."

Karela rose. "Your five minutes are up."

Her guest remained seated. "Still one and a half to go."

"I'm not engaging any applicant who can't show his certificates."

"Then you're a fool! There are other ways of proving my skills. Show me a computer that needs programming, or repairing. Or provide me with the necessary parts and l'll build you one."

He stood up and moved over to her side. "This," he touched the computer on her desk, "looks like an improved -"

"Wait!" She might as well give him a chance. They _were_ in need of qualified staff. Karela pushed a button on the communicator on her desk. "Lin, report in." When her senior technician replied, she went on: "Come over here please. I have an applicant who claims he'll be an fine asset to ACE. I want you to come up with something to assess his value to us."

With an assurance that Lin was on his way, Karela cast her attention back to her visitor, who had returned to his seat.

"Why are you on the run?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Don't waste my time," she said. "It's clear the prospect of having to prove yourself does not daunt you, so you must be qualified. Yet you are incapable or unwilling to show any credentials. One very obvious reason suggests itself."

He raised his hands in a gesture of dignified surrender. "You are correct. My name is Jorr Avon, and I'm a fugitive from the Terran Federation. I've got my elder brother Kerr to thank for my downfall..."

For a moment his eyes held a gleam of — something that Karela couldn't quite determine. It was gone in an instant, making her wonder whether she had imagined it.

"Kerr's the black sheep of the family," he went on. "Brilliant mind, but a born rebel. He got himself tangled up with the Resistance Movement and was caught. The authorities don't like to advertise the fact that there are dissidents in the Federation, so they fabricated a charge of bank fraud against him. Accused him of the largest embezzlement ever attempted. He was sentenced to exile on a penal planet, but he managed to escape en route."

"With your help," Karela guessed.

He shook his head. "Oh no, we all denounced him, cut him off from the family tree. No, on the transport ship he teamed up with another rebel, a notorious dissident named Roj Blake." He shook his head. "They should never have put those two on the same ship! They escaped with some other convicts. Apparently they found themselves a spaceship and started attacking Federation installations."

Karela ran a finger over her small chin. "And you decided to follow in your brother's footsteps?"

"No, but the Federation has a very effective way of dealing with dissidents. When a rebel escapes, close relatives and friend are arrested, and punished in the fugitive's place if he does not give himself up. As Kerr's next of kin, I would have been held to secure his surrender. But a friend in Central Security warned me and I managed to get out in the nick of time. Naturally, I had no opportunity to worry about certificates. l was running for my life."

Karela pondered this. She had heard rumours about the Federation's less than perfect human rights record. If this man had done nothing worse than be related to a dissident, there seemed no harm in employing him. She smiled at him. "If Lin approves of you, I'll take you on."

*****

_Liberator's_ crew was gathered on the couches in the recreation area of the flight deck. Cally idly watched Blake lay down his notepad of transparent sheets from which he'd read the revised watch schedule.

"Avon's departure means more work for us," he said, "but we should be able to manage."

Jenna shrugged. "The fact that we're rid of him more than makes up for that."

"Speak for yourself," Vila said. "You're not included in the night watch. Why do we need to keep watch, anyway?"

"We can't risk a pursuit ship sneaking up on us while we're all asleep, can we?" Gan pointed out.

"Zen never sleeps," Vila countered. "Surely he can warn us when something's amiss?"

"Zen needs human instruction," Jenna said. "If there are pursuit ships approaching at speed and we have to be woken up first, it may be too late."

Vila scowled at her. "That doesn't explain why _you_ are excluded from watch duty."

"We need Jenna to be fresh for emergencies." Blake's voice was even but Cally could sense his patience wearing thin.

"I agree with Blake," she said.

Jenna cast her a look of plain jealousy. "He doesn't need _your_ support."

//You have no cause to fear me, Jenna// Cally telepathed.

"Indeed," Jenna snapped. "Blake's got more taste!" She stalked from the flight deck in a manner reminiscent of Avon in a pique.

Cally shrugged. She'd been aware of Jenna's hostility since Blake had invited her to join the crew, but it couldn't be helped.

His anger over Jenna's outburst plain on his face, Blake stood to address the computer. "Zen, how long before we reach Centero?"

+At present speed _Liberator_ will be in teleport range in ninety five hours and twelve point four minutes.+

"Just under four Earth days," Blake said.

Gan asked: I'Why don't we increase our speed?"

"I want to keep the energy banks as fully charged as possible," Blake replied. "After our attack we'll need all the power at our disposal for a quick retreat."

Cally rose, pulling down the hem of her rainbow coloured tunic. "l will take the first watch."

Blake nodded consent. "Vila will relieve you in six hours."

"But I need my sleep!"

"Oh, stop moaning, Vila," Gan said good humouredly while making for the corridor.

Vila hurried after him. "It's all right for you. l have this condition, you know — the doctors have a name for it..."

His voice faded as he disappeared down the corridor.

//You look tired, Blake.// Cally climbed into the main pilot's position. //Go and rest.//

He sighed. "I suppose I'd better. Don't hesitate to warn me at the first sign of trouble."

"Of course." She smiled reassuringly at him. "Goodnight."

*****

Avon decided to celebrate his new life by dining out. He felt he had earned it, having secured both a job and a home. The furnished apartment he'd rented with part of the down-payment Karela had agreed to after Lin's favourable assessment might be tiny by Auroran standards, but it was still larger than any of his dome dwellings on Earth. Being on his own again was a relief — no whining Vila, insufferable Gan, distrustful Jenna, meddling Cally or demanding Blake to intrude upon his privacy.

Walking through the town, Avon looked around him with something approaching contentment. The streets were wide, lined with various kinds of flowering trees. The buildings were painted in gaudy tints, every one a different colour, yet still giving an overall impression of harmony. Positioned at the bottom in a wide valley, the city was embraced on all sides by green hills. Above them, a huge red sun hung low in the sky.

Having spent his entire life before deportation in the controlled environment of one or other of Earth's domed cities, being in the open air was still a novelty for Avon. His first experience of fresh air and open ground had been on that sortie with Blake and Vila to Saurian Maior. He'd not been impressed, the place had been bleak, the wind sharp, the air oppressive and the plant life carnivorous. Nor had his only other experience of outdoor life — in the meagre forest where he'd got his hand hurt - done anything to endear natural environments to him.

But here the warmth of the sun felt pleasant, his skin was caressed by a gentle breeze and the air held a faint but agreeably sweet smell.

Mindful that he had to be careful with his money until he would be able to demand the salary he was worth, Avon ambled through the Capital's centre until he found a cheap but clean looking restaurant. On his way to a table in a quiet corner he passed a rack filled with what looked like folded printed sheets of a thin, whitish material. He stopped to pick one up.

AURORA NEWS, the caption said. It must be a kind of newspaper, Avon deduced. He'd heard about them, they'd been in use on Earth a very long time ago, before the emergence of vizcasts and computer news-services. Taking the paper with him, he sat down at an empty table. The waitress, a plump girl with sea-green eyes, ginger curls and a ready smile, appeared almost at once, putting a small glass of green liquid on the table. Avon ordered the menu of the day — the cheapest choice.

The drink reminded him of _Liberator's_ vitamin solution but tasted far better. Some kind of fruit juice, he assumed. His first course was a plate of what looked like sliced raw vegetables. Four different kinds and colours, each in its own quarter, yellow, green, orange—red and a deep bluish purple. The dish looked festive and tasted excellent.

While enjoying the meal, Avon took in his surroundings, grateful for the fact that there were but a few other diners. The room was square, decorated in warm shades of red and orange. Through the open doorway he could look into the kitchen, where yellow seemed to be the dominant colour. He remembered the same colour scheme in his apartment.

When the waitress returned to remove his plate, placing a yellow drink before him, he asked her whether the colours had any special meaning.

"They symbolise nature's balance," the girl replied, apparently used to the question. "Green is the spring, when the rain is making the crops grow. Yellow signifies summer, when the sun dries and bleaches the land. Red is the autumn, the violence of thunder and snowstorms. Blue indicates the cold of winter."

"Winters get cold here?" Avon grew a little apprehensive; Zen had defined Aurora's climate as agreeable.

"Oh, It seldom gets below minus fifteen degrees," she assured him blithely, making Avon wish he'd found the time to overhaul Zen before he left.

"I gather it is summer now?"

"Yes." She smiled at him. "If you're planning to stay, you'd better make the most of it. It's the best season. Autumn will bring harsh winds and a lot of snow."

"And during spring it rains continually," Avon guessed with a sinking feeling.

She nodded. "You'll soon get used to it."

"I'll have to." He gestured around the room. "The colour scheme applies to your decor too?"

"It's the same everywhere. Green for the bathroom, because that's where you go first after rising. Yellow for the kitchen, where you go next. Red for the living room and blue for the bedroom, where you end the day."

She picked up his empty plate, which seemed to bring her thoughts back to his original question. "In food, the colours may vary according to availability. But there will always be four — to keep the balance." She indicated his glass. "The drinks have to be balanced too. They're all from local fruits. You'll get a red juice after the main course and a blue one after your dessert."

She bent over him conspiratorially. "Not long ago you could be fined for not adhering to the food rules. Most born Aurorans still don't look kindly on them being broken. A few centuries ago people were burnt at the stake for it."

She turned to go, adding over her shoulder. "You'd better finish your drink. I can't bring you the next course until you have."

So he'd landed himself in a superstitious society and a foul climate. Marvellous! Well, he'd make the best of it. That was what he'd been doing all his life.

*****

During her watch Cally began to feel a vague but insistent uneasiness. After checking with Zen that all systems were functioning normally, she tried to relax. But she could not get rid of the sense of impending doom. It was morbid, she told herself, and nonsense — she had no talent for precognition.

Except that the very same feeling had gripped her on Saurian Major, just before the poison had been dropped from the sky, killing all her companions.

Again she ordered Zen to run a systems check, and a long range scan. Again the response was negative. Cally shrugged, deciding there was nothing to do but keep alert. She cast her gaze over the deserted flight deck, halting at Avon's position. _Liberator_ felt empty without him. Even when he was in his cabin, she'd been aware of his presence, just as she was aware of the others now. Despite their differences they'd quickly forged strong emotional ties, a mental strength which she could tap into and absorb to lessen her loneliness and isolation. Avon's departure had disturbed the balance, weakening the force.

His absence was affecting the others too, even if they weren't consciously aware of it. Cally knew Blake felt hurt and betrayed by Avon abandoning his cause. Vila seemed lost, and more miserable than ever. Jenna's hostility, which had been mainly focussed on Avon, was now shifting towards Cally. Only Gan seemed unaffected.

She wondered how Avon was coping on his own...

*****

Sipping from his glass, Avon turned his attention to the news sheet. With a vague feeling of gratitude to Earth's first space-travelling colonists, who had made Terran the universal language in the galaxy, he began to read.

Aurora City seemed to be a fairly safe place to live in, unless the more serious crimes were kept out of the news. From various articles Avon gathered that Aurora was only a few days away from a general election. Although half the paper's space seemed to be dedicated to the coming event - mostly reports of party gatherings and a few juicy scandals about less-than-discreet candidates — it failed to provide him with an overall view of the political situation.

When the waitress brought his main course — right on cue, as he put down his empty glass — Avon asked her about the election.

She seemed happy to enlighten him. "It's the day after tomorrow. But it won't bring any change. The Democrats are going to win again. Jellam doesn't stand a chance!"

"Jellam Teskal?" Avon had come across that name. "The opposition leader?"

She nodded. "Sprang out of nowhere a few months ago and took over the Progressive Front. He's been working hard at making them respectable. But as long as we're all so well off under the Democrats he's not going to find many voters. Jellam's very good-looking though, I suppose that may. bring him a few extra votes."

Avon warmed to the woman's down to earth practicality. "The Democrats are the ruling party?"

"And have been for more than thirty years. They're the only choice, really, apart from Jellam's bunch."

"There are a few religious parties, aren't there?"

"The Bound and the Unbound, now there are some fanatical nasties for you! Actually, they were the first settlers here - left Earth when religion was outlawed."

"I imagine the Federation was happy to assist them."

"Glad to be rid of them, you mean." The waitress grinned. "Aurora was uninhabited when they arrived, ideal for setting up their own _'paradise'_."

She made the quotation marks very audible.

"But one day they fell out about the interpretation of a phrase in their holy writings. For them the cutting or shaving of any body-hair is a deadly sin." She brought her hands up to her own short curls. "One day, some priest came to the conclusion that all hair had to be bound or braided, even the beards. Another priest read exactly the opposite meaning in the same text. They quarrelled, each gaining a band of followers -"

"And it ended in a bloody war," Avon finished for her.

"A very bloody war that wiped out two thirds of the population. And when a fresh group of settlers arrived, those who survived were too weakened to resist them. The newcomers took over the best tracts of land, driving the natives to the edges of the continent. That's where they're living now, the Bound in the East and the Unbound in the West."

Avon frowned. "And they are content with that?"

"There's nothing they can do about it."

It sounded like just the kind of potential explosive situation he could do without. "What if they decide to reclaim their lost ground. Are they strong enough to overrun Aurora city, if they attack from both sides?"

She shrugged. "There's no chance of them ever uniting. They hate each other far more than they do us.

Catching the gesture of a diner at one of the other tables, the waitress hurried away.

Musing on the lack of useful information about Aurora in _Liberator's_ databanks, Avon started on his main course: four small pastries each filled with a kind of mash in a different colour. They tasted as good as the starter. He ate the lot, finished his glass of red juice and waited for his dessert.

Avon's heart leapt when the waitress brought it. A fondness for ice cream was the only weakness he was prepared to allow himself. The bowl she put before him was filled with scoops of four differently flavoured ice cream. It melted sweetly on his tongue, the unfamiliar but delicious flavours caressing his palate. Definitely the best ice cream he had ever tasted. For this, he was prepared to forgive the Aurorans their food rules and a lot more.

In that mellow mood, Avon began to contemplate his future with confidence. He was safe from the Federation here. In fact, there being no extradition treaty between Aurora and the Federation, he could even have used his own name. But no self-respecting firm would want to employ a convicted embezzler. For a moment he contemplated whether it would have been better to have chosen an entirely invented name, instead of using his brother's, but he'd always found it good policy to stick as far as possible to the truth when constructing a lie. Jorr and Kerr sounded much alike, too. Even if he used his own name by mistake, the chance was that no-one would notice.

Avon thought of his younger brother who had a penchant for getting himself into trouble. Like Blake. And who had always relied on Avon to get him out of the mess. Again like Blake... No, he was free of Blake, free of them all.

Jorr no longer needed him. The one sensible thing he'd done in his life was to marry the daughter of an influential High Council member. She'd proven herself more than capable of keeping him under control. And the protection of her family ruled out any chance for Central Security to use him as hostage for his brother's return.

For a moment Avon's past rolled over him, fragments of unwelcome memories. His father in one of his violent rages; Jorr, stuttering hopelessly over the 'k' until Avon ordered him to address him as Avon it he couldn't get his tongue round Kerr; his ambitious cousin Mell and the rest of his cursed family; Anna on that last morning, smiling up at him from the bed as he left to collect the visas...

Anna. Surprised, Avon found himself able to face a future without her. The pain of her loss, and the guilt over her death, had lost their edge. Oh, they would always be there, but bearable. He would never let another woman take her place in his affections, though. Not even a doe-eyed Auron telepath. Especially not a doe-eyed Auron telepath. But there was no chance of that now. He was free - and safe.

Strolling back to his apartment, Avon felt happier than at any time since that fateful day when he had set out to get the visas.

*****

Jenna awoke with a start, with the vague sensation of a voice calling her name. Next moment she sat up sharply. That silence: the comforting, almost subliminal drone of _Liberator's_ engines was missing. As she scrambled from her bunk and began to pull on her clothes, Cally's voice came again in her head:

//Jenna, please come to the flight deck.//

Grabbing her boots, Jenna rushed from her cabin.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, coming to a halt at the main pilot's station.

Cally made way for her. "The main drive has stopped." Her gaze went to the screen where stars could be seen sliding slowly past. "But we are still moving."

"Until some external influence interferes, we'll keep on moving." Jenna did a quick check of the instruments on her console. "Zen, why has the engine stopped?"

+No information available.+

She frowned in annoyance. "Start the main drive."

+Confirmed.+

The women waited for the sound of the engine.

"ZEN!" Jenna urged.

+Main drive engaged.+

"No, it isn't." Jenna's concern manifested itself as bad-temper.

"Can you do it manually?" Cally asked.

Further angered at having the obvious suggested to her, Jenna forcefully pushed the relevant button.

The drive remained silent.

"Zen," Cally said, "what is wrong?"

+Internal sensors can detect no malfunction.+

"Put the autorepair system on line," Jenna ordered. "I want an overhaul of all drive systems."

+Rejected.+

Jenna felt a sudden longing to throw her boots at the computer's flickering screen. "Why?"

+No malfunction is registered.+

"Computer logic," Jenna observed bitterly.

Cally sighed. "Zen can find nothing wrong for the autorepair to mend."

"Exactly." Jenna turned from the console in frustration.."Have you informed Blake?"

Cally shook her head. "You are the pilot."

"Indeed. But since Blake seems to have taken command, he can deal with the problem!" 


	3. Chapter 3

On his first workday Avon experienced the universal law that the newcomer gets all the boring jobs. He'd been provided with a pass identifying him as an employee of ACE, a cap and jacket with the firm's logo, and a hovercar loaded with tools and components. Working down the list of addresses he'd been given, he spent the morning visiting firms and factories to examine and repair broken-down computers. 

By lunchtime his jaws ached from maintaining a polite smile. The strain of holding back a string of increasingly sarcastic comments at the owners of the wayward computers had almost exhausted him. Gratefully he said goodbye to his last customer and drove to the City's cheapest food market. 

Fending for himself would be no problem, he'd been doing that for his entire adult life. 

An Auroran day and night lasted thirty Earth hours. After putting in five hours of work Avon was entitled to an equal period for lunch and siesta, then he had to put in another five hours work before having fifteen hours free until the next day. 

Idly Avon's hand went to the gems in his hidden pocket, but he checked the movement as soon as he became aware of it. He'd keep them for an emergency. Right now he would simply have to persevere in his job. He needed to establish credentials in order to apply for a position within the national banking system. If he could show a glowing reference from ACE, chances were they would not look too deeply into his background. Once he had access to a banking computer, he could study the system and perfect his scheme for lifting out enough money to set him up for life. And this time he would not fail! 

*****

Blake rolled down his sleeves. "I can find nothing wrong with the drive." 

"That was to be expected." Vila eyed him dolefully. "This is an alien ship, isn't it?" 

"Blake's an engineer," Jenna said. 

"And that makes him an expert in alien drive systems?" 

"The principle is the same, Vila," Blake said. He turned to the others. "The fault must be in the computer systems which relay the instructions to engage the drive." 

"Oh, marvellous!" Vila felt close to tears. "A job for Avon - and he's not here!" 

"Then we'll have to do it without him," Gan said. 

"Right." Blake addressed Jenna. "You and Cally see what you can do." 

She nodded. "I'll go and wake her. You'd better get some rest, Blake. You've been working on that drive for over thirteen hours now." 

Vila slumped down onto a flight deck couch. "How can anyone think of rest? Don't you realise what will happen when a Federation craft gets sight of us? Without the main drive we can't run!" 

"We can shoot," Jenna said. "The blasters aren't affected." 

"Zen, what is our speed now?" Blake enquired. 

+Standard by half and falling.+ 

"We're passing through a bank of magnetic dust which is reducing our velocity," Jenna explained. 

"That's it!" Vila saw no use in trying to fight his panic. "Soon we'll be sitting in space, just waiting for a pursuit ship to blast us out of existence. We're going to die!" 

"Shut up!" Jenna snapped. 

"Aren't there any auxiliary drives?" Gan asked. 

"Yes, but they're dead too," Blake said. 

"Dead — must you use that word?" Feeling his stomach revolt, Vila made a dash for the nearest bathroom. 

***** 

Karela looked up from her computer screen when Avon strode into her inner office. 

"You are supposed to knock." Her gaze fell on the worksheet in his hand. "Is something not clear about Lin's instructions?" 

"Oh, they're crystal clear." Avon threw the sheet onto her desk. "This is a waste of my talents. Any feather-brained apprentice can do the jobs Lin has seen fit to allocate to me. I should be employed on advanced technology, not setting right the errors of fools who don't know how to handle a computer. Half of the time they haven't plugged in correctly!" 

Studying the sheet, Karela bit back a smile. "I see what you mean. All right, I'll talk to Lin about finding some more profitable use for your talents." 

"Thank you." 

Karela waited until he was in the doorway, then said softly: "Jorr." 

He turned to face her. "Yes?" 

She held out the sheet. "Meanwhile, you will continue with the tasks Lin had set for you." 

For a moment he seemed about to refuse, then she saw an expression of amusement mingled with respect cross his face. He came back to take the sheet from her. 

"As you wish." He sailed out. 

Karela smiled. It seemed that, at the very least, Jorr Avon was not one of those bores who resented working under a woman. 

***** 

Avon was at his third address, finishing repairs while idly reflecting on the amateur's knack for wrecking computers for more effectively than any professional could achieve, when his pocket communicator bleeped. Irritated, he pulled it free. "Avon." 

"Jorr." Lin's tone made clear what he thought of people insisting on using their last name. "Here's your chance to prove your genius. The government's main computer's broken down. It seems to be a major problem. Finish what you're doing now, then come over here at the double!" 

Thanking his foresight in not having tried a false surname (for he'd answered quite without thinking), Avon listened to the instructions for getting to the government building, promised to make haste and put the communicator back in his pocket. 

Twenty minutes later he was showing his company pass to the security guards at the tall, grand building that was Aurora's government seat. He was directed to a large room filled with all kinds of electronic equipment and scattered terminals. The main computer, much like the one on _The London_, stood in the centre on the room. Several people were gathered in one corner, lounging with the universal stance of clerks relishing a legitimate reason for idleness. Next to a large desk an elderly man, suave, perfectly groomed and looking every inch the senior civil servant, was standing talking to Lin. 

It seemed to Avon that Lin, a slender, dark-haired man with sallow skin and slanting eyes, was looking decidedly harassed. 

"Ah, Jorr," he exclaimed, catching sight of him. "At last!" He indicated the computer. "See what you can do and be quick about it." 

He turned back to the other man. "Jorr's the firm's expert, Chief Secretary. He'll have the machine going again in no time." 

The official looked Avon over with polite disinterest. "I rely on that, Lin. We don't want cause to regret our contract with ACE. Having the system fail at this moment is singularly inconvenient. Fortunately the voting machines are not dependent on the system, but still, one would like one's administration's tools in working order on the eve of a major election." 

"I understand, Chief Secretary." 

Amused by Lin's humble tone and submissive stance, Avon put his tool kit on the floor beside the computer. "What exactly is the matter?" 

"Total breakdown." Lin's broad, asiatic face contracted into a frown of annoyance when Avon began circling the console to check the power lines. "I've done that!" He embarked on a summary of his checks. "It must be somewhere in the inner circuits." 

"Yes." Avon sank onto his knees and began to lever off a panel. 

The Chief Secretary came over to them. "l expect the system to be working again before tomorrow, Lin. If not we'll have to reconsider our maintenance contract with your firm. And we'll sue ACE for negligence." 

"Jorr will work overtime on it if necessary," Lin promised. To Avon he said: "l'll see you get a bonus. Report when you've finished." 

"Of course." Avon took a small torch from his kit and shone it onto the machine's innards. With this kind of failure, you could lay odds that the fault would be in the most inaccessible part. The wiring seemed okay. With a mental sigh Avon stretched on the floor and wriggled his upper body into the machine. 

Working inside small spaces like computer consoles or maintenance shafts was nothing new for him. Avon always thanked the stars for his slim figure. Imagine someone built like Gan, or even Blake, trying to work his shoulders through a computer access panel... 

Why was he thinking of them? He was rid of Blake, rid of the others. No need to waste another thought on them. 

***** 

"Would you like something to drink?

The young, female voice broke into Avon's concentration. It took a moment to register that the question was aimed at him. He shoved his frame out from the console and saw a young woman with long fair hair smiling down at him. 

"Yes. Thank you." Now the thought was put to him he realised he really was thirsty. 

While she moved to a tray on one of the desks that held a large thermos flask and a number of mugs, Avon looked at his watch. He'd been working for two and a half hours, systematically checking every chip and component and he wasn't even halfway through. 

The scene in the room was much the same, with the lower grades grouping together in happy gossip. The large room had several doors, presumably leading to small offices. Now and then people entered from the corridor to disappear into one or other of them. Meetings in progress, Avon reflected. The administration might have come to a halt, that did not mean civil servants would stop conferring. 

The woman came back and handed him a mug. Her figure was slim and angular like Cally's but her wavy blonde hair and decisive manner reminded him of Jenna. She'd brought a mug for herself too and seemed intent on keeping him company. 

"Thank you." Avon sipped the drink. It had a pleasant, somewhat spicy taste. "Some kind of herbal tea?" 

She nodded, reeling off four names that meant nothing to Avon. "It's called Perfect Balance." 

A blend of four - the Food Rule again. Well, the Aurorans appeared to make it succeed, tastewise. 

The girl gestured with her mug at the computer. "Any luck yet?" 

"No, but I'll find the fault. lt will be the last thing that needs checking, probably." 

"That's how it is," she agreed. "Always the last, wherever you begin." 

Avon smiled, recognising the atmosphere of lazy weariness that was prevalent in every administrative office he had ever encountered. Expect the worst and never be disappointed. 

Vila would feel right at home here. Now why did his subconscience persist in reminding him of those irritating people he had so briefly shared time with? Blake could lead them and _Liberator_ to destruction as far as he was concerned. Blake _would_ lead them to destruction. But that was no longer his concern. He was out — and safe. 

*****

"It's no use," Jenna reported wearily. 

"We have checked the entire system." Cally gestured at the main flight console. "It must be in there — I feel it. But I simply don't know enough about computers to locate it." 

"It could be anywhere," Jenna said. "But to find it we would have to pull the whole thing apart, and none of us would be able to put it back together again." 

"Can't be helped." Blake rubbed his neck. "All right, the two of you go and get some rest. You too, Gan." 

"You need rest too," Cally said. 

"I know." Blake reached for the internal communications button. "Vila, it's your watch!" He cut off the protest by releasing the button. 

Gan rose from the couch he'd been lounging on. "We'll think of something once we've rested." 

Jenna gave him a tired smile. "Optimist!" 

Blake slammed his fist on the console. "If only Zen wasn't so uncooperative!" 

"I don't think Zen is aware of the fault," Jenna said. She turned to face Blake. "You do realise this could be Avon's work?" 

"No," Cally said before Blake could reply. "Avon would do nothing to harm the ship." 

"You _feel_ that?" Jenna asked. 

"I know it." 

"Avon has retained his claim on the ship," Blake reasoned. "That means he doesn't want it destroyed." 

"He could have been acting out of pure spite," Jenna said. "If he can't have _Liberator_, then no-one else will." 

"No," Cally repeated. "Emotionally, Avon is bound to the ship more securely than-" She stopped and frowned. "But maybe I am wrong. Maybe it is the other way round. Perhaps it is the ship that is bound to _him_." Her eyes began to shine with agitation. "This fault, this loss of speed - it could be Zen reacting to Avon's absence." 

***** 

Avon finally located the fault: at burnt—out section in the main control line. He consulted his watch: just over half an hour working time left. The repair would take about ten minutes. For a moment he considered delaying things. The overtime bonus would come in handy. On the other hand, he would have to report the nature of the fault, and Lin might pause to consider how long the repair would have taken. Better not risk it, he decided. Once he'd built up a reputation of honesty — that was the time to try taking liberties. 

Avon selected the necessary tools and equipment from his kit and dived into the console again. He had just removed the damaged part when he heard footsteps approaching and a voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in alarm. 

"This is just a final check, you know." 

Another male voice - smooth, civilised, educated - said: "The PM has asked me to relay his gratitude for your work. Indeed, the whole government is aware that without the Federation's services and courtesy the automation of the voting system could not have been made possible." 

The footsteps passed Avon by, halting somewhere on his left. Close to the bank of electronics there, he guessed but did not dare to check. 

"The polling stations will open at three as usual," the smooth voice went on. "And close at the eighteenth hour." 

"And thanks to our machines," the familiar voice said, "the result will be known almost immediately." 

"The announcement will be the highlight of the PM's party. He has been kind enough to extend his invitation to everyone at the Federation embassy." 

"We thank him for his kindness." Only someone as familiar with the voice as Avon was could have detected the hint of sarcasm there. "Apart from some essential personnel our staff will attend." 

A pause. 

Then another voice: "All set and ready." 

"You can rely on our expert," the familiar voice said. 

The footsteps began to recede. 

"The PM will want to thank you both personally, tomorrow night." The smooth voice became fainter as they reached the corridor. "Aurora is in the Federation's debt. Please convey our heartfelt thanks to your Ambassador..." Just before it faded altogether, he added: "Commissioner Avon." 

***** 

"You mean that all this is happening because Zen is'missing Avon?" Gan asked. 

"Yes," Cally said. From the corner of her eye she saw Vila enter the flight deck. He looked thoroughly miserable. 

"That's ridiculous," Jenna spat. 

"Keeping a watch while we're going to die anyway is ridiculous," Vila commented, flopping down onto a couch. "Avon had the right idea. I should have gone with him." 

"Do you think he would have made you welcome?" Jenna enquired. 

Blake turned to Cally. "What makes you think the ship could be reacting to Avon's absence?" 

She hesitated. Her time on Saurian Major had taught her that humans generally had a singularly closed mind to spiritual matters. On the other hand, Blake was more open minded than most... 

"It is difficult to explain. I thought I detected a strong attachment to _Liberator_ in Avon." 

"He'd love a machine above a person any day," Vila said. 

"You said you couldn't read minds," Blake observed. 

"I can't. But somehow I seem able to..." Finding it impossible to put her meaning into words, she shook her head. Then tried again: "Sometimes I feel able to read — not his mind but his heart." 

"That must be like looking straight into a big black hole," Vila mumbled. 

Blake cast him a warning look. "Go on, Cally." 

Feeling awkward and inarticulate, she explained about the silvery threads she'd seen. "When I saw those bonds, I thought it was a sign of Avon's affection for the ship. It made me doubt that he would be able to break loose." 

"I didn't notice him having any trouble doing that," Jenna observed. 

"Oh, it cost him," Cally said. "But the point is that the bonds did not break. They are still there, maintaining the connection. That is what makes me think now that they are not caused by Avon's attachment, as strong as that is." 

Vila frowned. "You mean _Liberator_ doesn't want to let go of him?" 

"That's preposterous," Jenna snapped. "Impossible! Zen doesn't even _like_ Avon." 

Gan grinned suddenly. "And Avon himself would say that Zen isn't capable of feeling." 

"it was _my_ mind Zen chose to explore," Jenna said. 

"It was Avon who chose the button that made the link," Blake reminded her. 

"What link?" Vila asked. "Something to get us out of this?" 

"Now that might be the case," Blake said. "Jenna, see if you can make contact that way again. Maybe you can convey the need for activating the autorepair to Zen." 

*****

Avon forced himself to keep calm. The name had confirmed his fear. His odious cousin Mell, a high flyer in Central Security - one of the few serious candidates to succeed the current Head — was meddling in Aurora's elections. Apparently with the wholehearted approval of its Prime Minister. The fool did not know what he was getting his planet into! Central Security's involvement could mean only one thing: the elections would be rigged to give the Federation a foothold on Aurora. And the fact that Mell — a Commissioner now, he'd gone up in the world! — was handling this personally indicated its importance. The Federation's greedy eye had fallen on Aurora and it would not rest until the planet was controlled and its population pacified. 

Which made it a singularly unsuitable refuge for Kerr Avon. 

So, he had to get the hell out of here. The sensible choice, but it grated, especially when having it forced upon him by cousin Mell. There were still too many scores to settle from their childhood; Mell, a bully in the true Avon tradition, had resented his cousin for being cleverer and had done all in his power to make life difficult for him. As a born liar and dissembler, he'd got away with it too. Kerr Avon had learned to deal with this like he'd done with all adversities in life, but he'd neither forgotten nor forgiven. 

Engaged in thought, Avon slid out from the console. Reaching into his toolkit for a replacement component, his gaze fell on the computer against the wall. The one checked by the Federation expert — the master computer for the voting machines. Something he could deal with... 

Smiling grimly to himself, Avon left the component in its case; he would have to claim overtime after all. He worked his body into the machine again, pretending to resume his search. 

***** 

"Nothing?" Blake asked. 

Jenna took her hand from the panel, frustration written large on her face. "No questioning, no probing, no contact of any kind. Zen's simply not reacting." 

"Well, it's a machine, isn't it?" Vila said. "Useless!" 

"Maybe he doesn't want to get involved," Gan observed. 

"I do not think that," Cally said. "Zen is not aware of a need for involvement." 

"You try the panel, Cally," Blake suggested. "Maybe Zen will react to you." 

"No!" Jenna held her hand over the panel. Blake made no effort to hide his irritation. "This is no time for pettiness, Jenna." 

"This is my ship as much as yours, Blake!" 

"If we get shot to atoms it'll be nobody's ship," Vila pointed out. 

Jenna gave Cally a withering look. "All right. Zen will have better taste than reacting to an alien, anyway." 

"Well, _Liberator_ is an alien ship, isn't it?" Gan said mildly. 

Cally laid her hand on the panel. They watched her close her eyes and concentrate. After a while she opened her eyes. Releasing the panel, she shook her head. 

Blake hid his disappointment as best as he could. "It was worth a try." He raised his voice: "Zen, engage the autorepair." 

+Not possible. Sensors register no malfunction.+ 

Vila let out a moan. "You should have let Avon reprogram him!" 

"You take over the watch now," Blake told him. "The rest of you get some sleep. Take a sedative from the medical unit if necessary." 

He turned to instruct the computer: "Zen, keep all sensors on full alert. Warn us of any approaching craft. Vila, stay alert." 

"And stay awake!" Jenna warned. 

Vila let out a baleful sigh. "Oh, absolutely." 

***** 

The Chief Secretary who had talked earlier to Lin eyed Avon coldly. "How much more time will you need?" 

Avon spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I can't say. A few hours, maybe less." 

"Well, I'm not going to burden the budget by letting someone stay on for you." He pointed at a sheet with a row of numbers pinned to the wall. "That first one will connect you to the security office. Advise the night watchman there when you're ready. He can let you out." 

Without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and strode from the room. 

Avon kept up tinkering with the computer for a while, until he was sure that the building was empty. It didn't take long. Smiling, he reflected how you could rely on any civil servant the galaxy over to be more punctual in leaving than in arriving. 

He'd already scanned the room for surveillance equipment but found none. Not surprising in a community that had only just entered its electronic age. And the night watchman seemed to be expected to stay in his hole. Ideal.

The computer regulating the voting machines was more sophisticated than its simple function seemed to warrant. A strong indication that it was indeed programmed to rig the votes. It took Avon over an hour to bypass the securities built into the system, but then the machine gave its secret away. 

Avon whistled softly. So Jellam was set to win, by the smallest majority they could get away with. He must be in the Federation's pay. What had that waitress said - he'd sprung from nowhere to take over an ailing party. It didn't take a clairvoyant to see the hand of the Federation in that. A neat coup, enabling them to influence Aurora's government decisions while the planet appeared to remain independent. 

Deleting the program was easy; doing it in such a manner that it seemed to be still intact cost Avon forty minutes and all his considerable skill. Another ten minutes saw the government computer restored to working order. 

He took out his pocket phone and dialled Lin's number to report his task done. 

"You took your time, didn't you?" 

"Did you expect me to pass up the chance for claiming some overtime?" 

His relief about the completed task was evident in Lin's chuckle. "All right, I'll back you up. You've earned it. See you tomorrow." With a feeling of profound satisfaction for a job well done, Avon contacted the night watchman.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite his utter exhaustion Blake could not sleep. Desperately his tired mind groped for a solution. Vila was right, sooner or later a Federation patrol would find them. Even if they managed to shoot the first one down, others would follow. Without the motive power, they were doomed.

They needed a computer expert, one clever enough to sort out Zen. If Avon was unavailable, they needed to find someone else. Maybe he could make contact with the nearest rebel base and ask for assistance. The problem was that it would also alert the Federation. And with _Liberator_ immobile, the rebels would have to send a ship out to them. A ship they either did not have, or would be loath to risk for such a mission. On the other hand, Blake could make it worth their while. If he offered to return the favour by any way the rebels would want once _Liberator_ was back in action...

_This could be Avon's work_. Jenna's words were still ringing in his ears. Blake could not believe that Avon would willingly place _Liberator_ in danger. But suppose it was a trick? Suppose Avon was planning a bit of blackmail: restoring the drive in exchange for his share of the treasure. Blake had thought at the time that Avon had given in much too easily. And he had not even gone anywhere near the treasure room!

Blake found himself almost wishing that the drive failure was Avon's doing. In that case they could expect his ultimatum soon. He'd want to make them sweat a bit, but surely he was aware of the danger of_ Liberator_ being detected by Federation craft.

If Avon's ultimatum came, what should they do? Give in, tell him to go to hell, or try to negotiate? How would the others react? It struck Blake how little he still knew about his reluctant crew. And Avon had been the most secretive and inscrutable of them all...

At last exhaustion overwhelmed him; Blake sank into an uneasy sleep.

*****

Avon awoke to sunlight and birdsong. He couldn't remember having ever slept so well. Maybe it had something to do with the decoration of his flat, the blue tones of the bedroom seemed strangely restful and relaxing.

The bright yellow tints of the kitchen were a perfect match for his optimistic mood. It felt good having outwitted the Federation. Avon filled the kettle and placed it on the cooking plate, idly wishing he could be present at the party when the election result was announced. That was going to be a bad moment for the Ambassador and cousin Mell!

Taking a teapot from the cupboard, Avon reflected contentedly that he'd not only thwarted the Federation's plans for taking over Aurora, but also probably managed to ruin Mell's career prospects. After this little fiasco his chances of becoming the Head of Central Security would be reduced to zero.

_This is the way to fight them, Blake! Not by blowing up some communication centre they can replace in a month. Hit them where it hurts! Prevent their expansion, thwart their policies, get their officials sacked. While you are wasting energy on senseless destruction, I am preventing the take-over of an entire planet!_

But he'd done it out of pure self interest, Avon reminded himself while pouring oil — made from four different kind of seeds, according to the label — into the frying pan. Smiling mockingly at himself for falling into line with the Food Rules so readily, he took one each of the four different kinds of small eggs from their box, beat them and fried the mixture. When the water boiled he poured it onto a teabag labelled 'Morning Balance, The Perfect Blend To Wake You Up'.

Idly he wondered whether _Liberator_ had arrived at Centero yet. He did not doubt that Blake would manage to destroy the base quite competently. Avon allowed himself a slight smile. He could have made a valuable contribution there. For a moment he felt faint regret for leaving before they'd set out on that mission. Doing it his way would have been a triumph of reason.

While slicing the bread, made from four different kind of grains, Avon shook his head. Blake's futile fight was no longer his concern - had never been his concern! By thwarting the Federation's plans for Aurora he'd made his own future safe. That was all that counted.

He put his breakfast on a tray and took it into the red-and-orange splendour of his living room.

*****

Avon was relieved to find Karela accepted his overtime claim without questions. She seemed in a good mood, thanking him for enhancing the firm's reputation with the government.

"You can stay here today," she added, handing him a pile of sheets. "This is the plan for a revolutionary programming cube one of our best brains has been working on. His sudden death left it unfinished. See if you can do something with it."

"All right." Avon immediately became engrossed in the schematics and figures. Distantly, he heard Karela say: "... an invitation for the PM's election party tonight. As the man who did the repair job you deserve to be included."

"What?" Avon's attention snapped back with a shock. "I said you've got yourself an invitation to the Prime Minister's election party."

He felt himself pale, saw Karela noticing it. "I'd rather not attend. There might be members of the Federation embassy about."

"Oh, they'll be there in droves. I've heard that the PM's very chummy with their ambassador. When the plan for the automation of the voting system came up I tried to make the government see the advantages of entrusting the development to ACE. But they'd already accepted the Federation's offer."

Visibly casting her attention back to Avon, Karela smiled at him. "You're safe here. Aurora has no extradition treaty with the Terran Federation."

"That won't stop them kidnapping me in front of the PM's eyes. They'll violate any treaty to get me back." Realising he was reacting too strongly, Avon forced himself to shrug lightly. "That's why it is in your interest as well as mine if I do not attend that party."

Karela nodded. "All right. I'll ask Lin to accompany me. He'll be only too happy to take all the credit for your hard work."

"He's welcome to it." It took all Avon's willpower to walk with apparent calm to the research room. His heart beating was so hard he was surprised that Karela did not to notice. Finding the room empty, he closed the door and sank down onto the nearest chair.

He'd been an idiot. A stupid, an utter fool to think himself safe! Mell would want to know why his scheme had failed. He'd start an enquiry the moment the election result was announced. It would not take him long to find out about the government computer's breakdown and the man who'd worked overtime repairing it. Avon cursed himself for using his brother's name. Not that any other would have made much difference; it only needed his description to put a name to ACE's newest employee. The job he'd done on the voting computer was a dead giveaway!

Avon fought the urge to flee. As yet Mell had no idea that the election rigging program had been deleted. Avon was safe until the closing of the polling stations this evening. Time enough to escape.

He took his teleport bracelet from his pocket. Blake would have to abandon his destruction of the Centero base. If _Liberator_ came at maximum speed, it could be here in time. He needed a means to contact the ship - it would be well out of range of his bracelet communicator but with all the bits of electronics here he could easily build a transmitter powerful enough to...

No.

He would not run back to the others. He was not going to give Blake the satisfaction of getting him out of the mess. Aurora's main space port was less than an hour away by hovercar. With the planet's booming trade, there was bound to be an abundance of space-traffic. He must be able to find passage on an outgoing craft. Money would be no problem, the gemstones he'd taken from _Liberator_ treasure vault were valued currency anywhere in the galaxy.

He rose, then sat down again. Better wait until lunch break. If he asked for the afternoon off, his absence would cause no immediate alarm.

Avon forced himself to concentrate on the task Karela had given him. It was a challenging problem. By mid morning he'd discovered where the initiator had gone wrong. The solution followed almost by itself. Avon had to slow down his thoughts in order to write them down. The rest of his morning shift he spent on implementing his specifications.

By lunchtime he brought the completed cube into Karela's office.

"Would you like a demonstration?" She followed him into the research room, where Avon explained his modifications with the aid of the computer there.

"I'm impressed," Karela said.

"Rightly so." Avon switched off the computer and took the cube out of its slot. "l think I deserve a free afternoon."

"By all means." Karela smiled at him. "We're closing early today anyway, to give us time to prepare for the party. It begins at the sixteenth hour and the PM is a stickler for punctuality."

Polling stations closed at the eighteenth hour, Avon remembered. So the PM was indeed planning to get the party going before the announcing of the result. The man would never know how close to a defeat he'd come.

The Aurorans began the counting of the hours from the start of the morning. Avon's work times were from the first to the sixth hour and from the eleventh to the sixteenth. With the afternoon off he had twelve hours to organise his getaway before the announcement of the election outcome would alarm the Federation officials.

Leaving Karela's office, he went to buy a pre-prepared meal, which he took back to his apartment. Although not in the least hungry, he forced himself to eat. One thing his time on the run had taught him was never to count on the next meal.

Gathering his few belongings, he looked the place over with regret. He'd felt at home here. A deep fury rose within him, a fury at his cousin who'd been a thorn in his side all through his youth and now chased him from the one place in his life fit to call home.

Avon stifled the sentiment. It was a waste of time to fret over things that were out of his control. At least he had the satisfaction of wrecking Mell's career. His dismissal for incompetence could not be made public, of course, as Security would not want its election fraud plan made public. But after the fiasco Mell would be shipped home in disgrace.

Shipped home. Shipped... A man of his rank did not travel on scheduled flights. Commissioner Avon would have his own spacecraft, parked at the spaceport until needed...

A beatific smile spread over Avon's face. No need to spend money buying himself passage somewhere — he was going to steal Mell's ship.

He took the ACE hovercar for the trip to the spaceport. To hire one he would have to show some kind of identification, and he doubted if the Firm's pass would suffice. Leaving the car at the port was a dead giveaway, but Mell would work out where he'd gone anyway, especially on finding his ship missing. The trick was to be well away before that happened.

Avon lowered the hovercar into a vacant parking slot, cut the engine, reached over to take the toolkit with the Firm's name on it and got out. Still dressed in ACE's uniform and carrying the kit, Avon entered the spaceport terminal.

Inside, he found his way blocked by a turnstile and an armed guard. Hoping the man would not be able to hear his beating heart, Avon produced his ACE pass.

"Aurora Computer Express. I'm here for a repair job on Commissioner Avon's ship."

The guard dealt the pass a cursory glance. It only gave his assumed first name, a fact Avon felt deeply grateful for. "You'll need to go to the Ground Administration Office. They can tell you where to find the craft." The guard gestured in the direction of a row of open doors at the back of the large hall. "Second from left."

Forcing his legs into a nonchalant gait, Avon dutifully crossed the hall. Reaching the office, he took a deep breath, then stepped inside.

*****

Entering the flight deck, Cally found everyone except Blake present. Only Gan, leaning back on a couch, looked reasonably rested. At the pilot's position Jenna was checking the instruments, her beautiful face taut with exhaustion. Vila, huddled on a couch with his arms tightly round his legs, gave the impression of a bale of rags.

"Any change?" she asked.

Vila scowled. "You must be joking!"

"Our speed's now almost down to zero," Jenna said. "Zen's still refusing to instruct the autorepair."

Cally stopped in front of the couches. "Maybe I should try to communicate with him again."

"What's the use?" Vila gave her a doleful look.

"Blake will think of something to get the ship moving again," Gan said.

"What can he do? Send us outside to push?"

Cally was distracted from Vila's moaning by Blake's arrival. Sensing some hope in him, she asked eagerly: "You have thought of something?"

"A possibility I'm not sure whether to hope for or not." Blake sat down and related his theory about Avon holding the ship to ransom.

"You are wrong," Cally said, telepathing her indignation at him.

"How would you know?" Jenna challenged her.

"The question is," Blake intervened, "do we comply?"

"No," Jenna said.

"Yes." Vila sat up, lowering his legs to the ground. "What use is that treasure when we're dead?"

"I can't really see Avon doing this," Gan said. "But _if_ Blake's right, we don't have much choice, do we?"

"Cally?" Blake asked.

"You are doing him an injustice."

"Possibly. But just consider it as a hypothetical situation." Blake's voice betrayed a man under considerable stress.

In a flash Cally understood his dilemma. //You do not want to believe it either, do you? Yet you see it as our only chance for survival.//

Aloud she said: "In that case I agree with Gan. We have no choice."

"Thank you."

"No choice," Jenna echoed through clenched teeth. She gave Zen's screen a withering look. "If this is Avon's doing, I'll personally wring his neck!"

*****

"Thank you," Avon said to the uniformed woman who had escorted him to the hangar of Mell's craft. Somewhat bemused, he watched her unlocking the large double doors. Nobody had questioned his purpose, nobody had thought of checking his story with the ship's owner. Just put on a uniform, haul a large toolkit with you and look like you could take apart all spaceship systems and rebuild them with your eyes closed. Actually, he could do just that. One of his first jobs had been in the Federation's spacecraft development centre.

The woman stood aside as the doors began to roll back automatically. She pointed at a communicator on the wall, the sun making the golden varnish on her nails sparkle. "Call the office when you're finished - just push the button. Someone will come to escort you back and close up. They've given you the entry code?"

"Of course." Avon waited until she was well on her way back over the large grassed area separating the neat rows of hangars, before turning his attention to the problem of the entry code. Then he took an instrument from his kit, opened the entry-lock-panel and began to work on the wires. After two minutes sweating the entry hatch slid open.

"Now l wonder if Vila could have done that!" With a satisfied smile Avon entered the ship. The airlock gave straight onto the flight deck. The ship was a revised Starstrayer Mark Three, fast and functional. Apart from the flight deck it contained two small cabins with two bunks in each, sanitary facilities, galley, storehold, engine room and recycling systems for water and air. The advanced automatic flight system meant it could be piloted by a single person, although there was capacity for four.

Avon sat down at the main flight computer. It was here that the securities would be. He had to be careful, one false move could trigger an alarm — or worse. He wouldn't put it past Mell to have some kind of booby trap installed. Warily, he switched the computer on.

PASSWORD the small screen demanded. Avon grunted; the first hurdle. Bypassing it would take time and effort. A bit of probing showed him the code consisted of seven characters. People use passwords they can remember easily. What word would a man like Mell choose? His birthday? No, that would be too prosaic for him, he'd choose something to do with his dedication to his job. The family motto came to mind: _Loyalty Above Life_.

With held breath Avon entered LOYALTY, relaxing when the screen indicated acceptance. He'd always considered it a stupid motto. But then, he'd never fitted into the family in which it had been his misfortune to be born. Not only was he the dark one amongst a fair-haired clique, he'd never shared the passion for power and politics with which his siblings were so abundantly endowed.

Avon set to the task of reprogramming the computer. It was geared to Mell's voiceprint and he had to change that to his own before the machine would take any command from him. Other securities were built in, although with the password access they were easy enough to overcome. For three and a half hours Avon worked, then sat back satisfied.

Now for his destination. Aurora Flight Traffic Control would not be surprised about a Federation official returning to Earth, so that would be his official destination. Once clear of Traffic Control's range, he would set a course for Comorantha, his second choice from the list of planets Zen had provided.

Avon left his seat to check the small storehold. The stocks had been replenished, he found the standard rations of six-months' worth of concentrated food for four persons. The water and air recycling systems were in working order. The ship was ready to depart.

Avon's hand went to the communicator to contact Traffic Control with a request for flight clearance. He stopped halfway. His hand hovering above the transmitter, he reflected it might be prudent to wait until Mell had departed for the party. It was possible that Flight Control would relay the lift off request to the Embassy. Mell was a careful man, he might have set up some kind of procedure.

Avon consulted his watch. Half past the thirteenth hour local time, so he had some two and a half hours to kill. The sensible thing would be to take some rest but he felt too on edge for that. Besides, if needed he could go a long time without sleep. It would be more worthwhile to use the time making himself familiar with the ship's instruments.

Idly Avon perused the various control panels, his orderly mind processing and absorbing the configuration of the instruments. The craft could fly entirely on the automatics but it was good to know exactly where to reach for an emergency. He frowned when he came upon a small computer that seemed to have no connection to the main flight controls. On activation if requested a password. His curiosity piqued, Avon entered LOYALTY.

The screen displayed a list of Earth Standard dates and times. Avon selected one at random.

"Commissioner Avon," sounded a voice from the machine. "The Supreme Commander wishes to speak with you. Confirm."

Then Mell's voice, distorted by the recording: "Avon here. Put the Supreme Commander through."

A woman's voice, cultured, honeyed yet with a hint of malicious threat. "Commissioner, I was surprised by your protest to the Council about the proposed fleet manoeuvres in Aurora sector at the time of the forthcoming election."

"With respect, Supreme Commander," Mell's voice was equally insincerely sweet. "Surely Military Command can understand that holding such manoeuvres in the vicinity of an independent planet during a free election is not conducive to the Federation's role as neutral observer?"

"Military Command knows that it has to be ready to mop up Security's messes."

"Military Command should recognise that it is their own gung-ho interference that causes those messes."

Avon sat enraptured, savouring the squabbling. Trust a bureaucrat like Cousin Mell to keep his conversations on file, ready to exonerate him or hang an adversary. It was common knowledge that there was no love lost between Military Command and Central Security.

At the end of the recording the computer automatically played the next one. Most conversations were about the Aurora election, but occasionally they made reference to some other scheme in which Mell was involved.

Avon smiled; once safely in space he was going to relay these files to _Liberator_. They would give Blake useful background information.

The computer started to run the last message, dated seven weeks ago — probably the time of Mell's arrival on Aurora. This was from Senator Bercol, the President's henchman. Avon remembered meeting the man a few times; Bercol was a friend of his father and one of Mell's sponsors.

Here the concern was clear in his voice: "The President has agreed to forbid any military presence in the sector, Mell. But you must recognise the importance of the Federation gaining a foothold on Aurora. If your plan fails..."

"It won't fail, Senator. You have my guarantee that the elections will bring the required result. Besides, my strategy is not dependent on the outcome. If by some unforeseen accident the elections fail, Phase Two will be implemented..."

Avon sat rigid, cursing himself for his complacency. Of course Mell would have a back up plan! This whole scheme sounded like his pet project, something to make or break him. Mell was a cautious man — one of the few family traits they shared. He would leave nothing to chance.

The conversation reaching its end, Avon switched off the computer without being aware of it. If the election rigging failed, then it would be merely a setback for Mell, not his downfall. Unless something could be done about Phase Two...

Avon set his mind to the problem. First he had to collect the data. The plan for Phase Two had to be on file somewhere. Obviously not here. The logical place was the embassy.

But no, that was madness! He should go now, leave this place while there still was a chance, and put as many spacials between himself and Mell as he could. But he had no guarantee that his request for flight clearance would not be challenged. If he had access to the Embassy computer, he could check and delete any restrictions for lift-off permission Mell might have installed.

Avon looked at his watch. Seven minutes to the fifteenth hour. It could be done. By the time he arrived at the embassy most of the staff, including Mell and their computer specialist, would have departed for the PM's party. That gave him a fair chance for bluffing his way in just as he'd done here. Half an hour with their computer should do it, which gave him still enough time to come back here and lift off before the election results were announced.

While part of his mind was still urging him to start the launch sequence _now_, Avon's feet bore him out through the airlock to the hangar doors. He contacted the Ground Administration Office as instructed and waited impatiently for one of their staff to arrive.

"I'll be back later," he told the young man who came to escort him back. "Have to go and vote first."

The youth nodded, chewing on something that made his jaws grind ceaselessly. After locking the doors with irritating slowness, he set off unhurriedly to the main building. Avon fought down the impulse to urge him on with a well-aimed kick in the rear. In a foul temper, he climbed at last into the hovercar, determined to get the maximum speed out of it.

*****

Jenna came to relieve Blake on watch. She found the others, except for Cally, gathered together on the couches. "Any activity?" she enquired. Blake vacated the pilot's console for her. "Zen hasn't registered any traffic. We're practically stationary now."

"It's a miracle we haven't been detected yet," Vila said.

"We have our position to thank for that,'' Jenna explained. "We're far away from the main traffic lanes."

"So we're lucky," Gan said.

Vila sighed. "It won't last."

"Shut up," Jenna told him.

Gan rose. "It seems Avon isn't going to contact us, Blake."

"Why should he?" Vila said. "He'll have better things to do. l bet he's found himself a pleasure resort." He closed his eyes, a look of deep longing spreading across his features. "A massage parlour, and three nubile maidens working you over with..."

"Shut up Vila!" Jenna repeated.

Gan grinned. "I doubt if that's Avon's idea of recreation."

"I think it's no use waiting any longer for him," Blake said. "We're going to need a computer expert to find the fault and repair it."

"So how are we going to get one?" Jenna asked. "Place an advertisement in the Space Tele Chronicle," Vila suggested sourly.

"We'll have to contact one of the rebel cells, see what they can offer. The nearest planet with known rebel activity is Serchelle."

"Which also makes it a planet the Federation could be monitoring,"Jenna said. "They're bound to intercept your transmission."

"It's a risk we'll have to take."

Vila eyed him resignedly. "Why ask us if you've already decided?"

"He wasn't asking _you_." Jenna turned to Blake. "Did you ask our alien's opinion?"

He returned her gaze steadily. "Cally agrees."

"She would," Vila said.

"Well, it _is_ a good idea," Gan remarked.

"We'll wait another hour," Blake decided. "If we haven't heard from Avon by then, we'll try to make contact with the group on Serchelle."

Jenna stared at _Liberator's_ screen showing the darkness of space.The few stars visible did not seem to move. "How long can our luck hold?"

Blake came to stand beside her, lightly touching her bare arm. "It will have to hold, Jenna. It will have to."

*****

The security guard at the Federation Embassy looked Avon up and down with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Nobody told me about this."

Avon lowered his pass, forcing his hand not to tremble. "Then go and ask someone inside."

"No-one's there," the guard said. "They've all gone to a party."

"A shame." Avon pocketed the pass and picked up his toolkit. His other hand held a worksheet he'd forged himself on ACE's paper. "Just direct me to the right room."

"Can't do that," the man objected.

Avon sighed demonstratively. "All right, l'll be going then. l don't like to work overtime anyway. You can tell..." he made a point of consulting the worksheet, "...Commissioner Avon that you refused me entrance."

He turned his back on him.

"Wait," the guard said, standing aside. "Go straight down the stairs. The computer room's in the basement — you can't miss it."

Avon walked past him, hearing the guard grumble: "They should have let Borrit handle it. But he couldn't miss the party, I suppose..."

Presumably Borrit was the Embassy's computer technician. And a good one, judging by his work on the voting computer. But maybe Mell had brought the equipment over already primed, and the technician's role had been simply to install and check it.

On his way to the stairs Avon passed an open doorway that gave onto a small room where a vizcast threw the image of a group of naked dancing girls onto a screen that covered an entire wall. A nearly full wine flask stood on a table next to an empty chair. No chance of the doorman coming to check on him, Avon thought with satisfaction.

Nevertheless, descending the narrow stairs that seemed to be hewn out of the rock the embassy was built on, he felt as if he was walking into a trap — a tomb. At the bottom of the stairs he found his way barred by a heavy, metal door that was closed but not locked. Before entering Avon studied the complicated electronic locking mechanism. It could be operated from both sides, but there was an extra lock on the inside. Logical — a security officer would not want to be disturbed when entering secret files into the computer.

Like the stairs, the computer room seemed hacked from the bedrock. The stark walls had no windows; air was provided by a huge ventilator system set into the ceiling. A room designed to withstand a siege — the last refuge in a crisis. Stepping through the doorway, Avon was all too aware that the only way in was also the only way out.

The room was filled with equipment that appeared to be the Federation's latest technology, and some basic filing cabinets that looked, by comparison, rather out of place. Avon headed straight for the main computer console and sat down in front of it.

The computer was on standby. Avon activated it. A quick search failed to come up with any reference to contacts with the spaceport. It also failed to come up with the Phase Two plan. Further probing revealed a section of hidden files. These were protected. Fortunately Cousin Mell proved to be a man of limited imagination: entering the word 'loyalty' opened the lot. Among them were two files named Aurora Phase One and Aurora Phase Two.

Avon took an empty cube from his kit, inserted it and instructed the computer to copy all files. While waiting for the task to complete, he opened the Phase Two file and started reading.

The scheme was simple. Federation agents had been infiltrating the communities of both the Bound and Unbound. On Security's orders they would arrange for prominent members of both communities to be found murdered, with false evidence showing it to be the work of representatives of Aurora City's government. Caught between advancing hordes of angry fanatics baying for its citizens' blood, the Prime Minister — from whichever party — would eagerly take up the Federation's offer of protection. Once legally invited to assist, they would strike down the revolt by wiping out as many of the local inhabitants as they could. By the time the dust had settled there would not be enough Aurorans left to justify self government, leaving the Federation free to annex Aurora as another jewel in their crown.

Avon read on with gritted teeth. Mell had worked out the details meticulously, even preparing a press announcement about the Federation's 'assistance', to be sent out to every government and press association across the galaxy. The addresses and codes were already set, it would need a single depression of the enter key to begin the transmission...

Avon sat up. Now that was an idea... Use cousin Mell's scheme for his own downfall. The best way to prevent the Federation from implementing the plan was to make it known. Instead of just the press announcement, he would include the whole content of the Phase Two file. Quickly he did so and then, as a last nail into Mell's coffin, attached the Phase One file which covered the election fraud. On impulse he added _Liberator's_ frequency to the list of addressees before pressing the transmission key. The machine's confirmation made him almost laugh out loud in triumph.

The Federation would deny all involvement, dismissing the message as a crude attempt to discredit Central Security. But it would make other governments think twice about accepting assistance from the Federation. And it would be the end of cousin Mell.

Avon consulted his watch. Thirty-two minutes past the sixteenth hour. High time to go back to the spaceport. The copying concluded, he took out the cube and put it in his pocket. Those files would provide Blake with more useful information, once Avon had the opportunity to send them on to _Liberator_.

As soon as the transmission had ended, Avon pressed the standby key. He turned from the computer just as the door was flung open.

Avon found himself staring into the barrel of a gun. Its owner, resplendent in a Federation gala-uniform, gave a predator's smile. "Well now, I had a feeling it would be you!"

"Hello Mell!" Avon hissed.


	5. Chapter 5

+lnformation.+ Zen announced. +_Liberator_ is receiving a message.+

Vila, stretched out on a couch, snapped open his eyes. "At last."

"Where from?" Cally asked.

+Transmission source is the planet Aurora.+

From the pilot's console Jenna gave Cally a triumphant look. "You see?"

"Let's hear it," Blake said.

"The message is in visual form only."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Then put it on the main screen."

All heads turned to the large screen. Five pairs of eyes took in the first lines of script.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vila asked.

"It looks like some kind of intelligence report," Gan said.

"A top secret one," Cally added.

"Operation Aurora, Phase Two," Blake read aloud. After taking in the next few lines, he said: "It's a scheme by Central Security for the takeover of Aurora."

"Who's sending it?" Vila asked.

"Avon." Blake felt a strange excitement. "It has to be Avon. He must have stumbled upon this..."

"No, look. it is not only addressed to us," Cally observed. "It is being sent to every planet in the sector."

In silence they read on until Gan whistled softly. "This looks like dynamite."

Cally nodded. "It will embarrass the Federation."

"Why would Avon do this?" Vila asked.

"It could be a sop," Jenna said. "Something to make up for the blackmail."

"Or maybe he wants to show that he can do better than Blake," Vila suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jenna snapped.

Blake raised his voice. "Zen, can you pinpoint the source of this message more accurately?"

+Co-ordinates indicate the Federation Embassy in Aurora City.+

"Seems like the last place Avon would want to be," Vila said.

"Unless he's certain of gaining a full pardon," Jenna observed. "He could be selling us out to the Federation right now."

"I cannot believe that!" Cally's fierce outburst drew the others' attention.

Only Gan kept his eyes on the screen. "Phase One," he read aloud.

That brought their attention back.

"They're planning to rig the election!" Vila exclaimed.

"Thank you. I could never have worked that out myself," Jenna murmured.

"Look at the date," Blake said. "Those elections are being held now."

"That doesn't bode well for Avon, then," Gan remarked. "I mean, he thought he'd chosen a planet where he was free from the Federation."

"That could be his reason for making this public," Blake said. "With its intentions broadcast all over the sector, the Federation will hardly be able to carry their plan out now."

Vila scowled at him. "What do we care? Whatever Avon's up to, we're still sitting here helplessly waiting to be blasted out of space."

"Vila's right." Jenna turned to Blake. "What are we going to do?"

"We wait. It's still possible Avon will contact us."

*****

The gun aimed at his cousin unwavering, Mell allowed the door to close behind him. "I've entered my security code," he said. "No-one but me can open it now."

Avon tried to shake off his feeling of unreality. Cursing himself for not taking the precaution of locking the door, he said as calmly as he could: "Isn't it bad manners to leave a party before the high point?"

"The Ambassador will make my humble apologies. That's what diplomats are for."

Bitterness took hold of Avon, followed by resentment. "How did you find out?"

Mell touched the small communicator in his breast pocket. "A routine check with the guard." He shook his head, his pale eyes, too close together, almost disappearing under the heavy lids. "l dared not believe my luck when he told me about this technician from ACE who had arrived to service the computer. A man who happened to bear an uncanny resemblance to a certain disgraced cousin of mine..."

Mell's thin lips parted into a sneer. "Showing your true colours at last, Kerr? Teaming up with that terrorist Blake. I've always known you were a rebel at heart. I told the prosecution department but they didn't want to believe me. Just a greedy little crook, they called you. But I knew better!"

Avon began to laugh at the irony. "You've always been a fool!"

"No!" Mell's free hand clenched into a fist. "_They_ were the fools. Now I can make them eat their words!" He moved towards the computer, the gun not wavering. "What were you up to here? Trying to find out our involvement in Aurora's internal affairs? Yes, I'd expect such meddling from from Blake. But we'll get him! He's lost his most valuable ally now."

The ice-cold calm of despair settled over Avon. Facing the end with dignity was all that was left. At least he had the consolation of Mell's inevitable downfall. It was a great pity that he wouldn't be there to enjoy it himself. "Spare me the self-satisfied gloating, Mell! You've won. Now just kill me and get it over with."

"I'm not going to kill you." Mell's smile was that of a predatory shark. "You are worth more to me alive. Don't you know the President has put a price on your head? But that's immaterial. It's your brain I want. You're going to tell me all the secrets of that miracle spacecraft of yours."

Faint hope rose in Avon. If Mell saw more profit in keeping him alive, he would hesitate to shoot. That made it a simple matter of waiting for the right moment to jump him. Meanwhile keep him talking. Offer to negotiate a deal... No, Mell would expect him to protest.

"That won't take long. I can tell you nothing. Blake's schemes didn't leave me any time for research."

His cousin laughed scornfully. "Don't play me for a fool. You _always_ find time for research." Slowly, with measured steps, Mell began to advance upon Avon. "Any piece of novel technology is a challenge to you. I remember you in the Learning Centre, taking apart everything you could lay your hands on just to see how it worked."

"As you did." Avon prepared himself to jump. Just another few steps. "The difference was that I always managed to put the pieces back together again."

Mell took another step. He was now less than three metres away from Avon. "Ah, yes, those dextrous hands, able to make everything that your ingenious mind devises. We wouldn't want them damaged, now would we?"

His gun dropped. Before Avon could react or understand what was happening he was cut down by a shattering blast to his leg. He slammed to the floor, landing hard on his back.

Mell stood over him, tucking his gun under his decorated belt.

"I'm sorry, Kerr — well, not really." He smiled insincerely. "But I had to incapacitate you. Can't have you trying to attack-"

A wave of pain hit Avon, so intense he blacked out. It seemed to last only a moment before he became aware of sounds again. Mell's voice, coming from close by: "Can't have you dying from shock, can we?"

Avon felt something hard and cold at his back. Metal. He was sitting propped up against the computer console. His sight returned more slowly, at first only blotches of colour. He blinked the tears from his eyes and his vision cleared.

Mell was kneeling at his side, removing a small injector from Avon's thigh. Dropping it casually to the floor, he sat back to contemplate a mass of bloody matter that Avon identified with shock as his own lower leg.

"That shot has done more damage than I expected." Mell leaned over the first aid box beside him. "Have to do something about that." He spoke as if talking to himself. "We don't want you to bleed to death."

The gory sight combined with the smell of blood made Avon feel faint. Fighting the sudden dizziness, he closed his eyes.

Although feeling nothing, he was aware of Mell tending to his leg. A hiss told him a blood-stanching spray was applied, the sound of foil being torn indicated the extraction of a bandage from its sealed package.

When he found the energy to open his eyes again his gaze fell on an ornate belt and the gun casually tucked into it. Leaning over Avon, Mell was finishing his ministrations by binding a splint to the now heavily bandaged leg.

It seemed to take Avon an age to get his hand to respond to the instructions from his brain. His fingers grabbed the weapon just as Mell leaned back to regard his handiwork.

Feeling the movement, Mell looked down. "What...?"

Avon squeezed the trigger. The impact threw Mell backwards. Blood welled from his stomach.

"This can't be happening..." Mell rolled into a ball, arms round his knees. He began to yell when the first pain impulses reached his brain. His eyes sought Avon. "Help me!"

Avon stared numbly at his cousin, unable to feel pity or any other emotion.

"Help me," Mell cried again.

Avon found himself still clutching the gun. He carefully took aim and fired again.

Mell's screams broke off as the blast tore his head apart, scattering bloody fragments. The body relaxed in the stillness of death. Avon turned his gaze away, forcing his mind onto the matter of survival.

He tucked the gun into his pocket. His hand came out with his teleport bracelet. There was no way was he going to make it to the spaceport now. Blake would have to get him out of the mess after all. He snapped the bracelet onto his wrist. _Liberator_ would be out of range, but he pressed the communicator just to make sure. No reaction.

Well, that was to be expected. But it wasn't a problem: the embassy's transmitter was of the most powerful sort. Avon had identified the equipment when he had first entered the room. Over there, near the doorway. About seven metres away. Seven metres. No distance at all — for a healthy man.

Avon began to drag himself across the floor, trying to favour his uninjured side. His whole body felt numb: the shot that Mell had given him must have contained a strong painkiller. But he began to feel increasingly drowsy. Must be the blood loss. Well, he had gone through that before, when that cheat of a visa seller had shot him. He'd managed to reach safety then, and that was without the benefit of a painkiller.

After what seemed a lifetime he reached the transmitter. Stretched out on his back, Avon allowed himself a moment of rest. He brought his chrono to his face. Nine minutes to the seventeenth hour. Less than twenty minutes since Mell had confronted him. It felt like hours had passed.

So he still had some time before the alarm was raised. It seemed unlikely that the doorman had been involved. Mell was — had been — as much a loner as Kerr Avon. The guard would have got instructions to carry on and leave the Commissioner to it. There was no chance of him having heard Mell's screams — the heavy door would surely block any sound.

Avon stared up at the machine above his head. He had to get up to activate it. Get up. Do it. For a moment his longing for sleep became too much. Avon closed his eyes, then yanked them open again. He was not going to die here!

He rolled onto his side, managed to grip the side of the transmitter. He could not reach the keys. Kneeling was impossible: his wounded leg simply wouldn't co-operate. Avon hooked his good foot round the leg of a chair that was standing nearby and hauled it towards him. Then he began the almost impossible manoeuvre of getting his body into it.

Somehow he managed it, but as soon as he'd settled himself a pumping feeling started through the numbness in his hurt leg. A bad sign. Had to stop it, prevent the blood from flowing down. He took his leg in both hands and hoisted it onto a convenient ridge at the side of the transmitter console. That was better. Avon managed to shove his chair into a more comfortable position, then turned his attention to the transmitter.

Sub-beam. That could reach _Liberator_ anywhere! Avon flicked the switch. For a moment he felt a stab of despair in his breast as the machine gave no signs of being activated. Then the indicator light came on and a soft humming pronounced its readiness.

Avon set the frequency almost blindly. Surprised at the steadiness of his voice, he began to call: "_Liberator_, come in..."

*****

"_Liberator_, come in. _Liberator_! Answer me!"

Although expected, Avon's words still managed to take the crew by surprise. For a moment they looked at each other in shock.

It was Jenna who reached over for the transmitter switch. "Avon, what have you done!"

"Burned my bridges behind me — rather drastically."

The voice held its customary dryness, yet Blake could sense something behind it — a panic held back by pure force of will.

At his side, Cally whispered: "He is hurt."

Blake spoke into the transceiver: "Are you all right?"

"Apart from a nearly severed leg, yes." Again the matter of fact tone. "For the moment."

"Where are you?" Jenna asked. "Aurora City, in the Federation Embassy. There's no time to waste. Tell Zen to come here at top speed and bring me up the moment you're in range."

"He doesn't know," Cally said softly.

Vila looked dejected. "You mean he didn't rig Zen?"

"That's fairly obvious now," Gan said.

For a moment Blake felt utterly defeated. "Avon, we can't -"

"Oh, come on, Blake! I'm not asking you to abandon your fight. You can go back to Centero later! First get me out of here!"

Blake closed his eyes, leaving Jenna to deliver the bad news. Through his own despair he could almost feel Avon losing heart. Suddenly defiance rose in him.

"Avon, don't give up hope. Start thinking! There must be a way to get Zen to activate the autorepair. Tell us, Avon!"

*****

The message about _Liberator's_ breakdown had shattered Avon's last hope. Drained of all energy, he sat slumped in his chair, longing for oblivion. Damn Blake, he couldn't be trusted with _Liberator_ for a day without getting the ship incapacitated!

From afar Blake's voice invaded his thoughts. "Think, Avon. Think!"

"Yes, Avon," Jenna's cold voice added. "Tell us what to do."

What was the use? He tried to block them out, managed it until Cally came through:

_Avon, please do not give up._

Her voice seemed so near. Almost in his head. But no, telepathy was not possible over such distances. It had brought him out of his daze, all the same. The pleas of the others were registering again.

"Think, Avon!"

"Tell us what to do."

Vila joined the chorus: "Now's the time to prove you're a genius!"

"You can do it!" That was Gan. Stupid, optimistic Gan. Always in the way. Like that time when they were trapped in that Web and he'd been trying to repair —

Avon sat up. "Jenna. There might be a way. Tell me what you did to locate the fault."

He listened to her report, closing his eyes and trying to visualise _Liberator's_ intricate circuitry. Where was the most likely place for a breakdown too minor for the system to register?

"Jenna," he interrupted her. "The fault must be in the main flight console..."

"That's what I thought," came Cally's voice from the background.

"What do you want me to do?" Jenna asked.

"Burn it! Put a blowtorch to the inside. Cause major damage. The autorepair will register that and do its work."

"Of course!" Gan's voice held a mixture of admiration and peevishness. Avon smiled sourly. Yes, you should have remembered that, moron!

"It's risky, Avon," Jenna said.

"Doesn't make a difference, does it?" That was Vila. "Let's try it."

"It is our only chance," Cally said.

Jenna's voice came through less clear, as if she'd turned away from the microphone. "If he's wrong-"

Avon opened his mouth but remained silent, hearing Blake voice the exact words he'd intended to use: "Do it, Jenna!"

Time stood still. Exasperated, and realising he'd been holding his breath, Avon forced his lungs to function again. The channel was still open but he could make nothing of the muffled noises coming through. Just when he was about to make a stinging remark about them holding a tea party, he heard Vila exclaim: "It's working! Can you believe it — he's done it!"

*****

They flocked back to the communication console. "Avon, the autorepair has begun," Blake announced. "Zen says it'll take eight minutes — I'll spare you the decimals."

"Well, get underway the moment you can." Despite the peremptory tone the relief was all too clear in the sharp voice. "Maximum speed! Ask Zen how long it will take to get here."

Blake posed the question and relayed the answer. "A little under four hours."

"That's a long time," Gan mumbled.

Cally leaned over the microphone: "Avon, can you hold out that long?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" It was easy to visualise the snarl that accompanied the voice.

Blake said: "Tell us what happened."

Listening to the summary, he became convinced that Avon was holding something back. "What about the security officer?"

"He's no longer a threat." Avon's voice was flat. "He was stupid enough to administer first aid with his gun in my reach."

Vila grinned. "Shot him with his own weapon. I've always said Avon's more dangerous than he looks!"

Jenna rolled her eyes.

Giving no sign that he'd heard, Avon continued: "The party will go on for another three hours at least. I doubt if the alarm will be raised before the Ambassador returns. These Aurorans seem to stand on ceremony, so he won't want to risk a diplomatic incident by leaving early."

"The party might break up early if anyone decides to inform them about the broadcast," Jenna pointed out. "It must already be stirring up a few emotions around the sector. Someone on Aurora is bound to have picked it up."

"Possibly." Avon did not sound concerned. "But this place is built like a fortress. They'll either have to burn a hole in the door or hack through the ceiling, both of which will take more time than _Liberator_ needs to get me out."

"What about your wound?" Cally asked.

There was a long silence. When he finally spoke, the stress was plainly evident in his voice. "Assume it's bad. You and Gan had better go and get the medical computer to instruct you in removing clothing from an open wound. The rest will be a job for the regenerator, I hope." A pause. "lf not, you may have to amputate."

In the silence Blake caught their shocked gazes. Even Jenna seemed affected.

Vila leaned over the microphone. "Said you didn't want to stay around so Blake could get you crippled, didn't you? Well, you seem capable of managing that entirely by yourself."

"If it wasn't for Blake I wouldn't be in this mess," came the retort.

The bitterness hurt Blake almost like a blow. Irritated, he shook off the feeling. This was no time for personal grievances. "Avon, listen. If it's that bad you'll probably be better off in an Auroran hospital. We could warn the authorities — they won't allow the Federation to detain you."

"No." Avon's tone left no room for discussion. "Just get me out of here! And keep Vila away."

"Why's that?" Vila asked.

Jenna gave him a look of contempt. "He probably expects you to faint at the sight of blood."

"How does he know...?" The rest of Vila's comment was drowned out by Zen announcing:

+Repairs are completed.+

"Set a course for Aurora," Blake ordered. "Maximum speed." Jenna held up her hand. "Wait, Zen. Blake, this could be a trap."  
  
Vila stared at her in alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Avon could be in league with the Federation, shamming this to lure us into an ambush."

"You surely do not believe that!" Cally's eyes shot fire at her.

"Or perhaps," Jenna went on, "he's their prisoner and they're forcing him to help them catch us."

"No." Cally turned to Blake. "We cannot abandon him."

"We're not going to." His instinct told him to trust Avon. He decided to trust his instinct. "Implement the instruction, Zen. Now!"

For a moment _Liberator's_ crew held their breath, then collectively relaxed on hearing the sound of the drive engaging.

Holding onto the console while the ship built up speed, Blake spoke into the microphone: "The drive's working. Just hold on, Avon. We're on our way."

*****

Cally entered the flight deck and crossed over to Blake, who was seated at the communication console. Vila stood beside him, holding a timer in his hand. Jenna occupied the pilot station.

"How is he?" Cally asked, aware that Blake had been keeping in constant communication with Avon.

Blake turned off the transmitter, leaving only the reception channel open, to prevent Avon from hearing their conversation.

"Still responding. About twenty minutes ago the embassy staff began trying to force their way into the room. Avon is confident they won't succeed before we reach him."

Vila consulted his chrono. "Forty eight minutes and fifteen seconds."

"How are you doing?" Blake asked her.

"The medical unit is prepared. We've got all relevant data we can think of from the computer. Did you know Gan was a paramedic? He worked on an ambulance unit."

Blake nodded. "And you've got a lot of first aid experience." He brought up a hand to massage his neck. "If it comes to the worst, would you be able to do an amputation?"

"Yes. it is a relatively simple operation. With the proper instructions from the computer Avon would be able to do it himself."

A tired smile appeared on Blake's face. "Don't tell him that or he'll insist on it." He turned the transmitter on again. "Avon, Cally's got the medical unit ready."

"Forty six and a half minutes to go," Vila added brightly.

"l have not lost my faculty for consulting my watch," came the acid reply.

Vila scowled. "I thought I was helping."

"Which only serves to demonstrate your incapacity for thinking."

"And your incapacity for gratitude!" Vila strode to the couches and sat down heavily.

Cally had heard the strain in Avon's words. She leaned over the transmitter. "Is the painkiller wearing off?"

A pause, then: "That happened some time ago."

"Why didn't you mention it?" Blake exploded.

"What would have been the use? There's nothing you can do about it."

"What about that first aid kit?" Blake asked.

"It is beyond my reach."

"If it's a standard kit it'll have only carried a single dose, anyway."

Hearing Gan's voice, Cally turned to see him walking towards them. Blake pounced on him: "Isn't there anything...?"

The sharp wail of a siren startled them all.

Vila jumped up in alarm. "Where's the fire?"

"It's coming from the transmitter," Cally said.

"Avon," Blake shouted. "Avon, what's happening?"

There was no reply. Just the incessant wailing of the alarm.

*****

"They must have broken through the door," Gan said.

Cally shook her head. "Not if it was as solid as Avon claimed."

From her position, Jenna observed: "Maybe they cracked the lock."

"Not a chance," Vila said. "I know the sort Avon described. That would take even me at least an hour to open."

"Avon, respond! Avon!" Blake kept shouting over the din. "What's happening?"

The alarm broke off.

"A lot of noise," came Avon's dry comment in the sudden silence.

Blake felt almost weak with relief. "What was that about?"

"They tried to blow some kind of gas through the ventilators. it's all right, the system shut down automatically. The ventilators are now sealed. And not enough of whatever it was has come through to do any harm."

Now he'd been alerted to it, Blake could clearly hear the pain in Avon's voice.

"But that will have shut off your air supply too," Cally guessed.

"Yes, but the air will take some time to run out. if you keep _Liberator_ on schedule, you should be able to get me out in time -" His voice cut off.

"Avon!" Blake yelled, feeling an icicle stab his heart. Before he could say more Avon's voice came back.

"No need for concern. Some bright spark thought to cut off the power supply. A futile gesture, since this room is fitted with an emergency generator. It has taken over and there's nothing they can do about it."

Blake let out his breath in silent relief.

"Only thirty nine minutes to go," Vila announced.

"I told you before, Vila: I _am_ able to tell the time."

"Without the pain killer he must be in agony," Gan whispered.

"It hasn't impaired his faculty for clear thinking," Jenna said, her voice dripping with suspicion.

"Avon's tough," Vila observed. "I've always said he -"

"Shut up!" Cally snapped.

"Avon," Blake began, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

"Why don't you shut up too, Blake?" Avon said savagely. "I can do without your pity. Just get _Liberator_ here as fast as -"

The sound of a loud explosion, followed closely by static hiss, cut off his voice.

"Avon, Avon, respond. Avon!" Blake yelled.

Gently, Cally laid a hand on his shoulder. "It is no use, Blake. This time we have really lost contact."

"l know!" he snarled.

//Calm down,// she telepathed to him. //There is nothing you can do.//

He gave her a rueful smile. "I'm sorry."

"What can have happened?" Gan asked.

"It sounded like an explosion," Jenna said.

"A nasty one," Vila added.

+Information+ Zen announced. +Detectors register Federation craft.+

All eyes went to the computer facade.

"Put it on the screen," Jenna said.

Turning collectively towards _Liberator's_ main screen, the crew took in the view of a single, rather unimpressive spaceship.

"Identify," Blake said.

+Memory banks define it as a mark one class cruiser.+

"Not exactly the jewel of their fleet," Jenna observed. "Those mark ones are pretty obsolete. Slow and difficult to manoeuvre."

"Has it detected us?" Blake asked.

+Sensors have detected no probe activity.+

"Heading?" Jenna asked.

+Course projection indicates destination as the planet Aurora.+

"It must have come to investigate that message," Gan said.

Cally nodded. "The fact that the Federation sent that cruiser must indicate that they have nothing faster available."

"Or that the rest of their fleet is lying in wait for us behind the planet," Jenna'said. "Zen, how long before we cross their path?" Blake asked.

+_Liberator_ will be in direct flight-path of the Federation cruiser in nine point two minutes.+

"And _then_ they'll definitely see us," Gan remarked.

"If not before." Vila's eyes shifted from the screen to Blake. "What are we waiting for? Let's blast it out of space!"

"Right." Jenna automatically raised her voice when addressing the computer. "Zen, line up for attack, raise the radiation flare shield and clear the neutron blasters..."

Blake held up his hand. "Wait, Jenna! Zen, can we destroy that ship without slowing down or deviating from our course?"

"Negative. The aiming of the neutron blasters necessitates a course change."

"We can't afford the delay," Blake said. "If Avon's air is running out, every minute counts."

"We can't wait for them to attack us," Jenna protested.

"And we don't even know if Avon's still alive," Gan added.

"He must be dead," Vila said. "We're risking our lives for a dead man."

"I still say it's a trap," Jenna maintained. "No man as badly wounded as Avon claims to be can remain so clear headed."

"He's probably had a lot of practice," Blake said.

"What do you mean?" Jenna asked, plainly suspicious.

"His father used to beat him when he was a child."

"He told you that?" Her voice was full of scepticism. "I don't -"

+lnformation+ Zen announced, just as the Federation ship on the screen began to veer off course. +Sensors have detected a scan from Federation craft. Battle computers predict it will attack. Time to strike range is six minutes.+

"Shoot it down!" Vila screamed. "No," Blake said. "We can't deviate from our course."

"Face the facts, Blake," Jenna snapped. "Even if it isn't a trap, Avon is probably dead. And if he isn't, getting us killed won't help him."

Before Cally's inner vision the strands connecting Avon to the ship began to appear again. Silver threads, almost too thin to behold, hung in abundance around the flight deck, stretching out from Zen's facade, the screen, their positions, the couches, the force wall control panel - everything that Avon had ever touched or looked at.

It took her a moment to realise the meaning. "He _is_ alive," she whispered. "Avon is still alive."

"How do you know?" Jenna asked.

"Because the link is still there. If he was dead, the strands would have been broken. But they are still connected, so Avon must be alive."

+Five minutes to enemy strike range+ Zen announced.

"Zen," Blake said, "what offensive action can we take without changing course?"

+Battle computers advise the launching of seekers.+

"Do it!"

+Confirmed.+

"What are seekers?" Vila asked, nearly losing his balance as _Liberator_ bucked under his feet.

"We're about to find out," Blake replied.

"Look," Jenna said, pointing at the screen.

A bright dot came in from the corner of the screen, following a slight curve and heading for the cruiser. A second followed behind it.

"They must be some kind of self—targeting missile," Cally observed.

"But too small to destroy that cruiser," Jenna said.

"They've seen them," Vila exclaimed. "The ship's turning away from them."

"Straight into our flight path," Jenna added.

"Zen," Blake shouted. "Raise the radiation flare shield. Clear the neutron blasters for firing. Shoot as soon as the ship is within range."

As the computer confirmed the instructions, Cally saw the first of the dots explode on hitting the cruiser.

"A hit!" she exclaimed.

"But it doesn't seem to have done any damage," Jenna said as the craft cruised on.

"Nor that one," Vila added, as the second seeker dissolved in a flare, without slowing down the cruiser.

+Enemy craft within range+ Zen announced.

"Fire!" Blake ordered.

Three breathtaking seconds later the cruiser exploded into a fireball which flared eye-searing bright for a moment, then extinguished into the blackness of space.

+Target destroyed+ Zen reported impassively.

"There'll be others," Jenna said. "We're flying into a trap, Blake."

"Then why alert us with that cruiser?" Cally asked.

"To make us think we're safe now," Jenna responded.

"You've convinced me," Vila told her. "Let's get out of here!"

"Maintain course, Zen," Blake said.

Jenna stepped down from her station to confront Blake, eyes blazing. "It has to be a trap! Avon is leading us right into the Federation's hands."

Blake held her gaze. "I don't believe that."

"Listen," Vila said. "We heard an explosion - a big explosion. He can't have survived that."

"He is alive," Cally said, still seeing the silver strands. The rate of their pulsing seemed to have slowed down. And it was becoming irregular. "But his life-signs are getting weaker."

Blake leaned over the communicator. "Avon! AVON!"

Silence was his only response.


	6. Chapter 6

"_Liberator_, come in." In the darkness, Avon released the transmit button of his teleport bracelet. The ship must still be out of range. It seemed like hours since he lost contact, but he had no means to tell the time, except for his breathing becoming more difficult in the stale air. The power overload that had blown out the transmitter had also wrecked the lighting and every other piece of electronic equipment in the cellar, leaving the place in total darkness.

The explosion must have also damaged his chrono, caught in the blast on his right side; it was no longer functioning. He could not tell how badly his arm was injured; the pain raging through his body was too extreme to identify separate sources. All he could tell was that he was still able to use his fingers to press the communicator button of the teleport bracelet on his other wrist.

He tried again: "_Liberator_. Come in."

The bracelet could not be damaged, his left arm had been shielded from the blast. He just had to wait for _Liberator_ to come within range.

_How long_? Automatically, his eyes sought again the luminous display of his watch. Stupid, the thing was damaged. Avon tried not to think of the other, equally logical reason: that he could not see the display because the explosion had blinded him. He could face the prospect of losing his leg. Mell had been right, his brain and his hands were his assets. Combined, they were in perfect balance, working harmoniously together on whatever project he was forging. So, even with part of a leg missing, he would still be able to do his job.

But blindness was something he could not face...

With all his willpower, Avon fought down his panic. His first concern was to regain contact with _Liberator_. Concentrate on that!

He tried again and got only silence.

Why was it taking so long? Was the ship still on its way? Or had they concluded he was dead? Did they care whether he was dead or not? They might have decided he wasn't worth risking the ship for.

What would he have done in their place?

The logical thing. He never allowed sentiment to cloud his decisions. He would not go back for a lost crewmember. Yet he expected them to do just that. The full irony of the situation hitting him, he let out a hollow laugh.

Chiding himself for the futility of persevering, he brought his bracelet up to his mouth again. The pain threatened to overwhelm him. It was only his bloody-mindedness that made him refuse to give in to oblivion. Somehow he managed to hang on to a shred of consciousness, forcing a part of his mind into clear thinking, forcing his fingers to press the button...

"_Liberator_—' It came out as a whisper. He raised his voice: "_Liberator_, come in."

"Avon!" The relief was clearly evident in Blake's voice. "Are you all right?"

"What happened?" That was Jenna, cold, suspicious.

With perverse determination Avon banned all emotion from his voice. "They caused a power surge strong enough to disable every single piece of electronics down here. It made the transmitter blow out in a rather spectacular manner, right in my face. I had to wait for _Liberator_ to come into range of the bracelet communicator."

"How's your air supply?" Blake asked.

Avon grimaced; right now that was the least of his problems. "Getting foul, but still breathable."

"We'll be with you soon," Blake said.

"How soon?" "Nine and a quarter minutes," came Vila's voice. "I thought you didn't want us to tell you?"

"My chrono was damaged when the transmitter blew."

"Were you hurt?" Gan sounded genuinely concerned.

Avon felt his lips forming a cold smile. "The blast may have done some additional damage, yes."

"There!" Vila was just audible. "He thinks of himself as a machine."

Indignant hushing, then Blake asked: "How bad?"

"l don't know. It's pitch dark in here."

"Do you feel any pain?" Gan again.

"Yes, too much to decide where it hurts in particular." While congratulating himself on keeping up the neutral, disinterested voice, Avon heard Gan mumbling:

"Well, he's still talking and he's still thinking..."

"Yes," Jenna snapped from a distance, "far too rationally for someone in his condition." Her voice sounding nearer, she added: "If this is a trap, Avon, I swear l'll kill you!"

"I believe you." And he did. Jenna was never going to forgive him for tempting her to abandon Blake — and for nearly succeeding.

"We've got a fix on the co-ordinates of your bracelet," Blake said. "We'll be in range in five minutes."

"Four and three quarter minutes," Vila corrected.

"Cally's gone to the teleport room to set the co-ordinates," Blake went on.

"Four and a half minutes," Vila said.

"I'll be there too," Blake continued as if he had not been interrupted. "Gan has a stretcher ready."

"Four minutes."

Avon closed his eyes, feeling himself begin to drift into unconsciousness as Vila's countdown continued.

But no. He had to stay awake for a few minutes longer. He had to know the worst. He had to know whether he could still see..

"Two minutes," Vila droned.

//Avon.// Cally's voice in his head. //I've set the co-ordinates. Be ready.//

Avon felt terror as the familiar teleport rush enveloped him. For a moment he closed his eyes, not daring to face the unthinkable, then he forced them open...

Blinding brightness greeted him. Blinking, feeling tears running from his eyes, he brought up his arms to shield them. Strong hands were gripping him, he felt a sting to his arm.

"Sedative," he heard Gan say. Then he was lifted onto a stretcher, Gan's voice floating over him: "Looks like he's all right except for that leg."

Squinting through his fingers, Avon slowly lowered his hands. For a moment his vision was blurred, then Cally's smiling face came into focus, leaning over him. Why had he never before noticed how beautiful she was...?

"Welcome back," he heard her say at the same time as he received her telepathic reassurance: //You will be all right.//

Looking past her, he saw Blake gripping the end of the stretcher. Their eyes met.

"Decided you want to stay after all?" Blake joked lightly.

Relieved to be spared the display of emotion, Avon relaxed, his eyes falling close as the sedative began to work. But he had to have the last word: "Evidently I can't leave _Liberator_ safely in your hands."

Not his best parting shot, he thought, drifting into oblivion.

*****

Two standard days later Blake entered the flight deck for his early morning watch. He was early — upon waking and finding it impossible to sleep again, he'd decided to relieve Vila. Seeing the deck apparently empty, he strode for the couch area — if Vila had dared to fall asleep on duty he'd give him the dressing down of his life!

The couches were unoccupied. Frowning, Blake headed for the pilot's station. He almost fell over an open toolkit. Beside it, two legs were sticking out from under the console, one booted and the other heavily bandaged. With a deliberate audible sigh, Blake squatted down next to them.

"_You_ are _supposed_ to be resting."

"l have done so." From inside the console, Avon's voice had a vague metallic echo. A pale hand appeared. "Hand me the number four probe."

For a moment Blake seriously considered seizing the legs and hauling their owner forcefully out, then he selected the requested tool and put it into the outstretched fingers. The hand disappeared again.

"Where's Vila?" Blake asked. ' "I told him to go back to bed." The hand shot out, offering the probe and some other tools. "Take these." As Blake obliged, Avon slid out from inside the console. "Putting him on night watch isn't conducive to the ship's safety, Blake."

Avon's head appeared, his face very pale. He sat up, rubbing his back, then gripped the side of the console and tried to haul himself up, favouring his uninjured leg.

This was no time for niceties. Blake took Avon under the arms, hauled him up and helped him over to the couches.

"Thank you!"

Blake grinned to himself; only Avon could make those words sound like an accusation.

"You were told not to put any weight on that leg yet," he said. "You nearly lost it, man!"

"l know that." Avon's expression was dark. "However, as it seemed unlikely that you'd be prepared to postpone your fight until I was fully uncovered, the matter was of some urgency." He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment and looking utterly exhausted. "The autorepair system seems to have done its job properly. The circuits for activating the drive are now functioning normally. And I've managed to do some slight reprogramming on Zen. It will now activate the autorepair on command, whether its sensors detect the need or not."  
  
This brought home to Blake again how much they needed Avon. "Thank you."

"At least now I can be sure the _ship_ won't let us down on your next hair-raising mission." Avon's eyes, especially dark against the paleness of his face, held an expression Blake couldn't fathom. "Do you still want to go ahead with your attack on Centero?"

"Yes, as soon as we've recharged the energy banks."

"What do you plan to do?"

"A quick raid into the Federation base, planting enough explosives to blow the complex off the planet."

"Just destroy it?"

"Yes, Centero is a relay station for the Federation's coded messages. Destroy that base and you end all military and intelligence communication in this sector."

Avon's gaze turned inwards, as if he was trying to make up his mind.

"Well," Blake challenged. "Do you have a better idea?"

The eyes snapped back into focus. "Yes." The voice was tense, with the characteristic rapid speech pattern that allowed no pause for breath. "Remove the cypher machine before you blow up the base. If they'll think it's destroyed they won't change the code. With that machine rigged into _Liberator's_ system we'll be able to receive and decode all Federation messages."

Blake dealt him a contemptuous stare. "Do you think I haven't considered that? Such a machine needs very specialised handling. I wouldn't even be able to recognise the thing, let alone disconnect and reinstall it!"

Avon produced a particularly cold smile. "I am fully aware of your limitations, Blake." Again a moment of hesitation, then he said quickly as if afraid to change his mind: "But I can do it. I've worked with cypher machines." Blake stared at him, wondering if he had heard correctly.

"You mean that? You'll be able to handle that machine?"

"Yes."

Eagerly, Blake leaned over him. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Blake!" Avon's voice was cold enough to freeze water. "I'm not in the habit of making promises I can't keep."

Blake sat down on the couch, feeling dazed. Not only about the prospect of making use of the cypher machine. This was the first time Avon had voluntarily offered his assistance. Until now Blake had had to drag him into action.

It was a commitment.

"Don't get any ideas, Blake!" Avon snarled, as if sensing his thoughts. "This is purely in my own interest. Knowing what the Federation is up to will make my life a lot safer."

Blake suppressed a smile. It _was_ a commitment. Better let Avon keep up appearances, though, although it was difficult to resist a little teasing...

Before he could put his intention into practice, Blake was distracted by footsteps hurrying down the corridor.

"Avon," Vila called, entering the flight deck. Moving to the front, he prattled on nervously: "Time to knock off. Blake will be here soon to relieve me and if he finds you around I'll get... Oh!"

His eyes falling on Blake, Vila came to halt, then began to walk backwards the way he had come, muttering: "Don't blame me... Wasn't my fault... Avon insisted... Why is it always me...?"

Reaching the top of the steps he turned and fled into the corridor.

Blake caught Avon's gaze and for a moment saw his own amusement mirrored in the dark eyes. Almost immediately however, the shutters came down, Avon's face settling into its usual expression of detached superiority. But Blake knew he had not been mistaken. So Avon was human after all, his lack of emotion just a posture.

Blake sat silently pondering on this delightful revelation for a moment. Then his thoughts shifted to another cause for satisfaction.

"Your broadcasting of those intelligence files has caused a lot of diplomatic ructions across the sector. Zen's been picking up numerous transmissions. Of course the President is denying the whole thing: he claims it's a blatant attempt to discredit the Federation. But it's telling that lie deemed it necessary to appear on vizcast to make that declaration. And he's closed down the Embassy on Aurora and recalled the Ambassador."

"Who can say goodbye to a promising career," Avon said.

Blake nodded. "He'll be lucky to get away with his life. The Federation's never been embarrassed quite so publically on this scale before."

"Central Security is in for a bad time," Avon commented. "Military Command will use the incident to strengthen its position." He sounded deadly tired.

"You'd better go and rest," Blake advised. "I'll help you to your cabin."

"No need," Avon said sharply. "l have..." He fell silent at the sound of pounding footsteps.

Vila came running in. "Avon, Cally's looking for you." Panting slightly, he slid to a halt in front of the couches. "She's tried the sickbay and is now heading for your cabin. She seems pretty angry." Grinning broadly, he sat down with an air of gleeful anticipation.

Blake looked up in time to see an approaching female form silhouetted against the brightly-lit corridor. Not Cally, he saw when she walked into reach of the flight deck lights, but Jenna, bleary-eyed and obviously in a foul temper.

"What's all the running and stamping about at this hour?" she demanded, glaring down at them from the steps.

"Vila has decided on a program of morning exercises," Avon replied with a straight face.

Through Vila's indignant protest, Jenna snapped: "He'd better find some other place for it!" Contemplating Avon, her eyes narrowed. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"So I've been told."

Aggressively, she descended the steps. "Then what are you doing here?"

Avon gave her a bloodless smile. "Answering superfluous questions."

Time for appeasement, Blake decided. Jenna wasn't at her best at this time of the day and Avon was fast approaching the limits of his patience. "Vila will remember to move more quietly next time, Jenna. Why don't you...?"

He fell silent as Cally stormed in. Advancing with determination on Avon she said: "You must rest."

"You concern touches me greatly..." Suddenly Avon's eyebrows shot upwards.

Blake wondered what Cally had been telepathing. She stared at Avon with a faint air of challenge. He held her gaze, his expression difficult to read. A mixture of shock, surprise, and respect, Blake thought. Yes, definitely respect.

"Vila," Avon said, his eyes still on Cally. "Bring my crutches."

"Why me?" But Vila got up to follow and managed to trip over the toolkit.

Following his progress, Blake saw two metal crutches propped up against the side of the main console.

"Where did you find those?'' he asked.

"In the medical unit, where else?" Avon replied. "Actually, it was Vila who found them."

"Neatly stored behind a locked door," Vila said, handing over the crutches to Avon. "l'm indispensable."

"Occasionally useful," Avon corrected, rising from the couch. Leaning on the crutches, he departed with quiet dignity, taking the steps with unexpected ease.

Cally followed him. "I brought a sleeping draught to your cabin. You know what the medical computer said: rest is the best cure. It will take your body some time to recover from the loss of blood."

"Yes."

They disappeared into the corridor.

Vila grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. "Sounds like he's actually going to do as he's told."

"Well," Blake drawled, feeling in high good spirits. "Avon isn't entirely without common sense."

"You mean he's decided to stay?" Jenna asked, walking over to the main console.

"Hasn't got much choice, has he?" Vila chuckled. "His refuge wasn't all that safe after all."

Jenna bent to pick up the toolkit. "He's been checking the systems?"

"Yes," Blake replied. "He says he's fixed Zen."

Jenna carried the toolkit to its locker. "So it seems Avon's usefulness may go some way to compensating for his obnoxiousness."

Blake's grin was even broader than Vila's. "I'd say it's a perfect balance!"

*****

In Avon's cabin Cally sat looking down at her sleeping charge. It would be some time before he'd be fully recovered, the blood loss had hit hard on a constitution already weakened by months of malnutrition and the hardship of prison life.

She smiled; it felt good having succeeded in almost making Avon blush. Those guerrillas she'd joined on Saurian Major had been a tough bunch. She'd learned a few coarse expressions from them — among other things. Idly, she wondered whether he'd want to take up her challenge.

Cally relaxed, and the bonds holding Avon in a delicate cocoon appeared once more before her eyes. Yet now there was gold shimmering among the silver strands. Five thin golden threads, pulsing faintly but vibrantly. One was reaching out to her, the other four disappeared through the wall. Cally felt her heart leap with joy and wonder. Gold denoted human interaction. It meant that Avon was no longer bound solely to the ship. What she saw were the first, tentative, signs of his bond with the crew.

Straining her psychic powers to their limits, Cally could sense the feelings accompanying each strand. Mild tolerance (well, mild for Avon) towards Gan; cold respect towards Jenna; a fierce protectiveness towards Blake. For Vila there was grudging professional admiration and the potential for camaraderie. And for her... curiosity, warmth, the seed of passion - yes, he _would_ take up her challenge! Well, curiosity worked both ways.

Picking up the empty glass, Cally smiled again. Even if he did not know it himself — and would not want to acknowledge it if he did — Avon's place was with them on _Liberator_. And now he was bound not only In the ship, but also to its crew. His issues with Blake's cause and his methods might make him threaten to leave again, and he might even do so, but he would always return.

Because he belonged.


End file.
